


Throw Your Arms Around Me

by moveslikejaeger (believeinmycroft)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blow Jobs, Complete, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay Bar, Just a little tho, M/M, One Night Stands, Shower Sex, Smut, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2017842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/believeinmycroft/pseuds/moveslikejaeger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jean goes to a gay club alone one night after partying with his friends, he isn't expecting anything special to happen at all, except for the (slim) possibility of hooking up with a guy.</p><p>Of course, that's until he meets Marco Bodt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 10:20pm

 

 

> _"And we may never meet again_
> 
> _So shed your skin, let's get started_
> 
> _You will throw_
> 
> _Your arms around me."_
> 
> _\- Hunters & Collectors  
>    
>  _

* * *

  
I fucking hated going to bars with my straight friends.[  
](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Weekend_%282011_film%29)

I sat at a wobbly table in the corner, running the tip of a finger along the curve of my glass. The cold, amber-coloured liquid inside shivered slightly at my touch, the small concentric ripples radiating from the centre to the outside oddly mesmerising for a second.

I looked up, momentarily distracted by someone squealing with laughter.

We’d ventured into this dive several times over the past three years or so, but this time felt different, since most of us had just finished our third-year exams for uni a couple of days ago, and in a couple of months we’d be seniors, the top of the place. I didn’t always go out with my friends, of course, since getting smashed at a sleazy bar off cheap beer had never been my ideal Friday night out, but they’d practically dragged me out of my shitty one-bedroom apartment that afternoon with the promise of having, in Eren's words, 'a hella awesome time, bro.'

The bar wasn’t even that nice, really.  It was small and always crowded, and there seemed to be an ever-present smell of something musty and vaguely piss-like, but the beers were adequate enough, it wasn’t too expensive, and it was a ten-minute walk from the sad little apartment I called home.

‘So, anyway, that _bastard_ Levi grades me way too fucking much man. I mean like, I feel like grabbing him and telling him to stop being so fucking tense all the time. Maybe he just needs to get laid, I don’t know …’

I avoided stating the obvious – that no guy would actually _want_ to get into Eren’s pants due to the fact that he was an obnoxious, vaguely homophobic prick, even if he was half decent some of the time – and tuned out the rest of whatever drunken conversation he was having with Armin, who looked supremely uncomfortable. But hey, that was Armin for you. The poor guy looked uncomfortable just about everywhere, especially if someone was gossiping about someone else or talking about, god forbid, sex – bless his sweet, innocent, virgin heart – plus I knew he was harbouring a crush for Eren. Like that was ever going to happen in a million years. Still, the guy could dream, I guessed.

I craned my neck to look towards the corner of the room where the women’s toilets were. The girl Eren had brought along as a date for me, Sasha – “Oh my _god,_ Jean, you _have_ to see her tits, they’re _beautiful_ ” he’d drunkenly yelled at me last week after meeting her for the first time - had gone in there, claiming she’d only ‘take a minute’, but it’d easily been fifteen. Maybe she’d run off, I thought, but to be honest, I didn’t really care. The only reason I’d agreed to go out with her in the first place was to appease my friends and their endless nagging.

 _You know you’d be more upset with her leaving if she was a guy,_ said my inner voice, and nope, there was no way I could really argue with that. “Gay as a fucking rainbow”, as Connie was rather fond of saying when he was drunk and trying to set me up with a guy at one of his endless parties – not that it worked all that often - and a small pang went through my chest. It was so nice being out around him, being able to be myself, not having to worry about slipping up and accidentally letting people know that I batted for the other team. I was almost tempted to come out to the other guys at some point – although Armin already knew, due to a rather unfortunate experience involving several bottles of tequila at his house party and him walking in on me in the bathroom, up against the wall in a rather compromising position with an Australian exchange student. I doubted I’d forget his look of sheer embarrassment mixed with horror anytime soon, and we’d never spoken of it again. I didn’t regret it though, cause that guy had been hot beyond belief and had a way with his tongue that still made me squirm sometimes, though we’d never actually--

‘Fuck off, that's what I feel like saying to Levi sometimes. Seriously, what the hell's with that creep?’ Eren rambled, his voice rising, his words becoming more and more slurred as he slurped from the beer in his hand. ‘You know, sometimes I catch him looking at me weird, like he’s, I don’t know, fucking attracted to me or some shit,’ - he took a quick break to take another swig from his beer – ‘and I’ve nothing against fags but-‘

I stopped listening there and looked away, my eyes trailing over the crowd. I felt a small pang for Armin, hoping that either one day Eren would realise what a dick he was and stop saying shit like that, or that Armin would realise that Eren was nowhere near good enough for him. I doubted either thing would ever happen, but hell, a man could dream.

I finally spied Sasha across the other side of the room, her back against the wall, and I moved my head, trying to catch her eye. But then another guy moved into my line of view, the back of his fair-haired head blocking my vision, and Sasha enthusiastically wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his. 

I turned away, relieved. _Perfect. Now I have an excuse to leave._

I stood up, catching Eren’s attention, and he lifted an eyebrow.

‘Where you going, Jeeeaaan?’ Fucking hell, he was already smashed. Yeah, I was pretty damn glad I was leaving now.

I nodded my head briskly back to where Sasha and the other dude were making out. Eren’s eyes widened as he saw them.

‘Oh shit, man,’ he breathed, ‘that sucks.’

‘Yeah,’ I lied, trying to make my voice sound just slightly upset and failing miserably. ‘And I’m not feeling great, so I’m leaving.’

‘Okay man, you want us to come with?’

I smiled, but it felt tight on my lips. ‘No, thanks, I’m fine. I’ll see you later, okay?’

Eren nodded, turning back to his drink morosely, and Armin caught my eye, smiling gently, his eyes understanding. I was suddenly incredibly grateful that I’d found a friend as goddamn _accepting_ as him, especially a guy who'd gone this long without accidentally outing me. I should really buy the guy a drink some time as thanks.

I made my way through the crowd, shuffling myself through the hordes of sweaty, scantily clad students celebrating the end of term, a mass of elbows and bare skin and a cloying scent of perfume and cologne washing over me. Winking eyes and packed bodies pressing in, crushing me, and people grinding, drunk and desperate and horny, against each other, and it was so goddamn claustrophobic and I needed to get out or I was going to vomit, or break down, or start screaming--

I finally burst out onto the street outside, gasping for fresh air. I hadn’t realised how fucking suffocating it’d been in that place, or how awful it was going to be making my way through the packed crowd on my own, and I took a second, bent over, my hands on my knees, to regain my composure, breathing heavily. When I felt like I wasn’t going to vomit anymore I straightened up. It was freezing out here - way too cold for the middle of goddamn _spring,_ christ - my breath coming in soft white clouds out of my mouth, and I stuffed my shivering hands in my pocket.

The street was surprisingly quiet, save for a few couples milling around and chatting, one girl vomiting into the gutter, her friend holding her hair back, poor thing, a few people walking away to other places, and a few others leaning against the wall of the bar, cigarettes dangling from their lips, the tips like bright red fireflies glowing dimly in the dark. I wrinkled my nose in disgust at the smell, bitter and overwhelming on my tongue – I hadn’t smoked since I was fifteen, and that had definitely been a passing thing, my angsty phase when I was still trying to convince myself I didn’t have the hots for men.

I glanced at my watch, luminescent in the dark. _10:37._ It wasn’t even fucking midnight, and yet here I was, on my own, standing on a freezing cold street in the dark when I should have been somewhere celebrating the end of another semester of university.

There had to be somewhere else I could go, somewhere where I would actually be comfortable in my own skin, where I wouldn’t have to deal with women hitting on me or straight guys getting uncomfortable around and Eren being an annoying little shit.

_Oh._

I remembered a club I’d seen not far from here, a place I’d passed by occasionally in the past three years, a place I’d always kinda wanted to go into but never had. I’d forgotten about it for a while, honestly, had always had it on my mental bucket list but never ended up actually going to it, for some reason or other. There was the fact that I knew few people who would go me - Connie really being the only one – and he’d gone to study up north a year ago, so that wasn’t exactly helpful. Then there was always the small, niggling worry of someone I knew seeing me there and outing me publicly, but, well, I _was_ twenty-one, I reasoned, and if people had a problem with my flagrant homosexuality then they could go fuck themselves.

Besides, I’d heard this place served a _really_ good piña colada, and like hell I was going to miss out on that.

* * *

  
By the time I’d stumbled my way across two blocks and through a myriad of streets, guided by the tiny little map on my phone, some of my bravado had worn off and I was almost contemplating turning on my heel and just going back to my apartment to browse Reddit for the night.

But then I was suddenly there in front of the place, and wow, I just could not stop _staring_.

The place looked and sounded significantly more raucous than I’d thought it would. Inside the open doors I could see dozens of people dancing around, and well, there were also a _lot_ more gay couples than I had thought there would be, dancing together and a few even passionately making out, which brought a light blush to my cheek.

 _Well, to be fair Jean, it is a gay club,_ said my inner voice, and I almost rolled my eyes. I wasn’t exactly unfamiliar with the queer community, going to the occasional pride event when I was sure no one would recognise me and surfing gay blogs every so often, but there was a serious difference between reading about activism online and seeing two guys desperately grinding up against each other in a gay club.

‘Okay, Jean, you can do this,’ I muttered to myself. ‘It’s nothing that scary, just toughen up and do it …’

I paid my entry fee, got my hand stamped (I tried not to notice the fact that it looked suspiciously like a dick), clenched my fists and walked forward through the doors, adrenaline thrumming through my veins.

I was surprised at how quickly I found myself lost in the warm mess of arms and legs and roaming hands and the blare of some new pop song coming from the speakers, but there was none of the claustrophobic feeling I’d had in the other place. Someone bumped me from behind suddenly and I stumbled forward slightly, but a young, blonde guy wearing a pink singlet steadied me with one warm hand on my chest and winked before giggling and dancing off somewhere else. I raised an eyebrow, my cheeks growing a little pinker. 

Stepping up on my toes, I peered over the top of the crowd, trying to find the bar, and finally located it along the far wall.

I walked over and ordered a piña colada – and dear god, it was fucking _delicious_ – and made my way across the room to the corner, leaning as nonchalantly as I could against the wall, despite the butterflies fluttering slightly in my stomach. My eyes trailed slowly over the crowd. It was mostly guys, all dancing and grinding up against one another, with a few women moving around in groups, except for one couple who was standing near the bar.

Suddenly, I couldn’t take my eyes off them, because my god, they were just so … _cute._

One was short-ish, with petite, pretty features, and a soft smile on her face. She had her head resting against the other girls’ chest, a tall, strikingly featured woman with long brown hair and freckles spread across her face, and they had their arms wrapped around each other in a lazy embrace, swaying slowly in time to the music.

Vaguely, I noticed the bartender placing a beer net to my elbow, and I paid for it without taking my eyes off the couple.

They swayed back and forth to the music like they just fucking _belonged_ together, like each was the other’s anchor to the world, and it was absolutely beautiful, and before I knew it I was lost in their embrace, oblivious to the noise around me.

I wasn’t sure how long I was watching for, but then the taller girl looked up and caught my eye, raising an eyebrow, and I looked away, embarrassed at being caught. I rubbed the back of my neck. Awkward habit.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and slowly turned my head, already flinching slightly.

‘You got a problem?’ The tall girl was standing right there, closer than I’d usually be comfortable with, but obviously she wasn’t interested in me due to the hard expression darkening her features. _And you know, the fact that this is a gay bar and this other girl is kinda obviously her girlfriend, you moron._ I mentally yelled at my inner voice to just shut the hell up already.

The petite girl was behind her, tugging at her elbow.

‘Ymir, come on,’ she pleaded. ‘Just leave it …’

‘Krista, darling, please,’ Ymir said. ‘I was just about to ask this _gentleman’_ – her tone was incredibly sarcastic – ‘a question.’

She stepped a tiny bit closer, which I hadn’t even thought was possible up to that point. ‘Why were you looking at us?’ The other girl gave up tugging at Ymir’s elbow and stood there with an overwhelmingly defeated look on her face.

‘Um, uh …’ I cleared my throat, trying desperately to think of an answer that wasn’t completely lame and embarrassing. _Oh fuck it, man, just tell them the truth._

I sighed. ‘You both just looked, um, really cute.’ I rubbed the back of my neck again, mentally cursing the blush on my cheeks. There was a short, awkward silence.

Krista was the first to start laughing, and Ymir followed soon after with an incredulous chuckle.

‘Really?’

I nodded. ‘Yeah, you know … you just looked really sweet together. Like …’ I thought back. ‘Like you’re both the other’s anchor to the world.’  

Krista let out a loud ‘aww’, prompting me to blush even more, which caused Ymir to laugh properly and clap a hand to my shoulder.

‘What’s your name, kid?’

‘Jean,’ I said. ‘And I’m not a kid.’

‘Well, Jean, you look like you’re about eighteen and probably a virgin, and therefore you are a kid to me.’

‘What?’ I cried. ‘Okay, you’re wrong about two things there.’  

She snickered.

‘Oh believe me, Jean, I know, I was just messing with you.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Though judging by your reaction, I’d guess there’s a little truth to the virgin part of it.’

I turned away, muttering under my breath and trying to hide my mortified expression. She was half-right, unfortunately. My sexual experiences had mainly been limited to the occasional blowjob and some intense making out, but I’d never actually had real sex with a guy, at least not the sort that involved stuff like condoms and lube. It was a fact I was painfully aware of.

‘Hey, you wanna come with us, Jean?’ Ymir said suddenly.

I lifted an eyebrow. ‘Where are you going?’

She gestured to a door on the other side of the room that I hadn’t even realised was there.

‘There’s a room with a fireplace and comfy seats and stuff,’ she said. ‘It’s quieter there, plus a lot more cosy. Strictly VIP, but you can come with us.’ She smiled.

I nodded, draining my piña colada and setting down the glass on the bar. ‘Sounds good.’

She took Krista’s hand and they threaded their way through the crowd. I followed, trying to ignore the mass of waving limbs hitting me everywhere, until finally we made it to the door. There was a security guard standing there, a black shirt covering his muscular biceps, but when he saw Ymir his stern face cracked into a grin.

‘Hey Erwin,’ she said, smiling and pointing at me. ‘This kid’s joining us tonight.’

‘No problem, Ymir,’ he said, his voice deep and rumbling.

He turned and knocked on the door five times and we stood there for a moment until it finally swung open, revealing an unfamiliar but very friendly face.

‘Hey, Krista!’ This guy, who was goddamn _huge,_ reached out and pulled her into a bear hug. I could hear her giggling wildly at him to stop, even through the blare of the music.

‘Hey, Bert,’ said Ymir, cackling, ‘You’re smashed again, aren’t you?’

The guy pulled back from Krista at last and stepped back, noticing me for the first time. His eyes flicked up and down my body, observing me, and I stared back. He was kinda cute, I had to admit, in a weird, giant teddy-bear kind of way.

‘Who’s this guy?’ He pointed at me and stage-whispered to Ymir, and she rolled her eyes.

‘My name’s Jean,’ I said, stepping forward and reaching out a hand for him to shake.

He looked at the hand for a second then shook his head, and panic struck in my gut. _Oh crap, what did I do wrong?_

‘I’m more of a hugging kind of guy,’ he admitted, laughing. ‘And my name’s Bert, obviously.’

‘Oh,’ I said quietly, and a relieved chuckle escaped my lips, which quickly turned into a muffled ‘oompf’ as he stepped forward and hugged me tightly.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of being crushed against his chest, he let me go and walked back into the room, where he plopped down onto a comfy-looking couch next to another guy.

I walked forward and Ymir closed the door behind me.

The place was actually deceptively nice. The walls must have been soundproofed or something because the music that had been pounding in my head before was now nothing more than a soft murmur trickling through the walls. There was a fireplace near one wall, and a couch in front of it a little way back, which was where Bertholt and the other guy were sitting, Bert’s head resting on the other guy’s shoulder.

Bert lifted a hand and pointed to the other man. ‘Jean, this is Reiner. Reiner, this is Jean.’

I muttered an awkward hello and Reiner twisted on the seat to look at me and smile. ‘Oh, hey Jean,’ he said. ‘Make yourself comfortable.’ He nodded towards another couch near the fireplace.

I shrugged and sat down, sighing as my body sank into the soft cushions. _Wow, Ymir was not kidding, this place is amazing._

Ymir and Krista sank down next to me, their hands laced together. 

A thought occurred to me.

‘Why did you invite me here?’ I asked. ‘I mean, it’s not that I don’t like it, it’s just … why me?’

Ymir shrugged, and then spoke her words slowly. ‘You seemed cute and harmless, mostly, plus it was really sweet what you said about me and Krista.’ She smiled. ‘But also … I kind of got this weird feeling, like it was important that we become friends or something. I don’t know,’ she shrugged. ‘I was just kind of acting on instinct.’

I nodded, confused slightly.

She punched me lightly on the shoulder.

‘So, what are you doing? You at uni?’

* * *

  
Ymir talked with me comfortably for a long while, with Krista interjecting a word or two occasionally, but most of the time her face was nestled in Ymir’s shoulder.

We were in the middle of chatting about some graphic novel she’d read recently (some love story about two young lesbians in Paris, apparently I absolutely _had_ to read it), when we both heard the door creak open and a warm, soft voice say hello.

I turned my head to see who it was.  
  
And all the breath went out of me at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, I wonder who it could possibly be?? *sneaky eyes*


	2. Midnight

The man, whoever he was, walked forward slowly, the sound of his light footsteps slightly muffled by the soft carpet. Every second felt like an eternity, like a single fleeting breath being cast into the air to fade away.

 _Breathe, Jean,_ my brain said, and it was only then that I realised my lungs were hammering painfully. I breathed out slowly, shakily.

The man walked over to Ymir and Krista, leaning on the back of the couch on his elbows and slouching down so he could talk to them face-to-face.

From this angle I could finally see his face properly, and oh my god, he was _beautiful._

Olive-tinted skin glowed softly in the faint light of the fireplace, his hair black as coal. His eyes glinted with good humour and a thousand other trace emotions, but most of all I could see kindness, an absolute deep, eternal kindness reflected in that deep, sparkling green that seemed almost like glittering emeralds embedded in the lightly tanned skin of his face.

A smattering of freckles ran across the bridge of his nose and faintly across his cheeks, like a tiny constellation of stars, and even up into the dark hair flopping messily onto his forehead, hair that I was already desperate to run my fingers through.

My eyes trailed downwards from his face as he talked to Ymir and I became fixated on the collarbones I could see jutting out of his white V-neck shirt, collarbones that looked so sharp it looked like you could cut yourself on them, and his shirt clung so tight to his muscles that it left nothing to the imagination _at all,_ and christ this guy was well-built, so good that it made me feel almost self-conscious about my own scrawny physique, and his arms – _oh dear god his arms_ – were like perfect specimens of what arms could be, all rolling muscle and tanned skin and light blue veins streaking faintly underneath, like spider webs, and light dustings of hair, but then I saw his hands, all slender fingers and so strong-looking, and my mind immediately leapt to images of what those arms and hands would feel like roaming over my chest and my stomach and over the faint line of hair leading down to my--

I looked away quickly, my cheeks fiery, and awkwardly coughed into my fist.

My god, whoever the hell this guy was, he was so fucking  _beautiful_ it was almost a crime. _Stay calm, Jean. Stay. Calm._

‘ _Dude._ ’

‘Sorry, what?’ I whipped my head around to see all three of them ( _oh god, fuck)_ looking at me – Ymir with a scowl, Krista with a slightly exasperated smile, and the man with an eyebrow raised, a grin tugging at his lips, and once again I was significantly distracted looking at those lips that were probably so soft …

‘ _I was just talking to you,’_ Ymir said, glaring. ‘For five minutes. But you totally just went off into dreamland and ignored me.’

‘Jeez, go easy on the poor guy, Ymir,’ the man chuckled. He looked at me with soft eyes. ‘You were probably thinking about something important, right?’

‘Uh, yeah,’ I said blankly, _I totally wasn’t thinking about how gorgeous you are._

He smiled at me for real then, all dimples and freckles and deep crinkles at the corner of his perfect green eyes and my heart almost stopped. _Jesus fucking Christ Jean, get a grip on yourself._

It was another second before I realised that he was still looking at me, an expectant look on his face, and panic flashed through my head – what could he possibly want? – before I realised what he wanted.

‘Oh,’ I said, ‘M-my name is Jean.’ _Yeah, way to go stuttering like an idiot there. Great first impression, you jackass._ I mentally kicked my inner voice in the balls.

He smiled, his eyes twinkling with bemusement. ‘I’m Marco.’

‘Marco,’ I repeated, smiling timidly. _What a beautiful name._ ‘You Italian or something?’

‘Yeah, something like that,’ he said. ‘My family’s from Sicily but I grew up here in Trost.’

‘Ah, a local then,’ I said, nodding. ‘I’m not from around here, actually.’

He hummed expectantly and raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, with a name like _Jean,’_ – and the way he- _Marco-_ pronounced it, it was like a caress against my skin, the soft _J_  at the start like a sigh, and the rest all open-mouthed vowel sounds and smooth and almost _sultry,_ and it sent literal shivers down my spine – ‘I figured you’d be, what, French?’

‘Uh, yeah,’ I managed to say. ‘Well, my father is, at least, and I grew up in Brittany until I was what …’ I tried to think back. ‘Eight or so? And then we moved here because my father remarried.’

‘It must’ve been amazing growing up in France,’ he said, and I nodded in agreement, a nostalgic grin growing on my face despite my best efforts not to look like a total idiot. _Oh well._

‘I don’t have a lot of distinct memories,’ I admitted. ‘Mainly just eating a lot of cheese and bread, and a lot of pretty green countryside.’ I chuckled. ‘And me mistaking my dad’s wine for apple juice on more than one occasion.’

Marco giggled – honest to god _giggled_ – and leant forward, and I took that as a cue to keep rambling on about my childhood, because for some reason he seemed to find it inexplicably fascinating.

I quizzed him about his childhood as well, and then it moved from that to our favourite movies (mine was _Fight Club_ , because it’s fucking _awesome_ , and he guiltily admitted that his was in fact _Mean Girls,_ which almost made me choke on my drink much to his alarm, but then he looked put-out when he saw I was just laughing), and then to favourite bands (we both loved Judas Priest and Iron Maiden, _sweet_ ), and then favourite books and then onto a whole range of other stuff that I never could’ve imagined would be so _fascinating_ – and still couldn’t, really, from anyone but him.

He told me what it’d been like growing up with a real Italian family with three sisters and two brothers and a densely woven web of endless cousins and aunties and godfathers – not quite like the movie, he informed me with a twinkle in his eye - and of the amazing food and the rich culture and the sheer overwhelming _noise_ of it all, and how weird it always felt to be thinking in two languages at once half the time, and when he spoke Italian to show me I swear to god my heart almost stopped.

Sometime during all of this Ymir got up to go back to the dance floor with Krista tagging along behind, and Marco stopped leaning on the back of the couch and came to sit next to me, plopping down on the cushions with a deep, satisfied sigh that did unspeakable things to my mind.

He grinned at me as though he could read my mind. ‘So, you got a boyfriend?’

I coughed awkwardly. ‘Uh, no.’ I was painfully aware of that fact, actually.

‘Oh,’ he said, his face slightly crestfallen, but I could tell he was trying to hide it. ‘So are you not interested in guys, or …’

_Oh._

‘Yeah, I am,’ I said, trying to assure him, ‘A hell of a lot, actually.’

‘Oh,’ he said, a smile brightening his features. ‘Me too.’

‘Good,’ I said without thinking, and he raised an eyebrow.

‘Um, I mean,’ I said, floundering for words, aware of how pink my cheeks were getting and not helped in the slightest by Marco’s very bemused expression, ‘Uh, um, … Do you have a boyfriend?’

He snorted. ‘No, not for a while. I wouldn’t mind one though.’

‘Right,’ I said, and looked away, trying to contain my wild inner glee at the discovery that he was single, and possibly attracted to me, and maybe even up for sex,  _fuck,_ and the thought was really not helping my underwear feel any less tight in the front. _Holy shit, Jean, stay calm. Stay. Calm._

Reiner giggling wildly on the other side of the room, hopefully from something Bert had said and not my horrible awkwardness, reminded me that Marco and me weren’t the only people in the room, and I leaned back slightly, suddenly aware that we had gotten _very_ close over the past few minutes. I tried to ignore Marco’s mildly disappointed expression and moved onto talking about something else that wasn’t going to give me a raging boner.  
  


* * *

  
As the night progressed and we talked and shared stories and memories of our lives with each other, I started noticing Marco’s little quirks – like how when he smiled it was with his whole face and his eyes, rather than just with his mouth like so many other people I knew. How when he got shy about something, or when he was feeling embarrassed, he’d scratch the spot just in front of his ear and lick his lips more than usual (which did absolutely nothing for my resolution not to just kiss him then and there, I can tell you). How his laugh echoed through his whole chest, and how it felt like it reverberated inside me too. I noticed how he seemed to like pattering out little rhythms with his index and middle fingers on his knee when he was thinking. And how, sometimes when he thought I wasn’t looking at his face, he’d stare at me. How when we were talking about something more personal, like our families or our childhood, he’d reach his foot out and gently press it against my ankle, like the small contact could bring us even closer.

But most of all, I noticed how sometimes there was an inexplicable sadness in his eyes, a look that melted my heart and brought a lump to my throat, and had me wanting to reach out and pull him into a tight hug more than once.

A little later, I found out what the source of that was.  
  


* * *

  
Marco told me how growing up, all he’d ever really wanted to do was help people (and when he said that his face clouded slightly, but I didn’t mention it), and how his desire to help people eventually led him to become a doctor in the Army, which stopped me short for a second.

‘So, does that mean you’ll have to go overseas or something?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I’m actually …’ He paused and looked down at his drink before he finally spoke. ‘I’m actually getting deployed to the Middle East on Sunday.’

My heart didn’t just sink – it plummeted down to rest pathetically on the deep ocean floor of my stomach.

‘As in, like, a day and a half. That Sunday.’

He nodded, his eyes slightly sad. ‘Yeah. I _am_  really excited to help people and do good work, you know, but I am going to be gone for a while-’

‘How long?’

He sighed, his eyes sad. ‘… A year.’

I let out a breath I hadn’t even realised I’d been holding in. ‘That _is_ a while.’ _Understatement of the century right there._

‘Yeah, it is,' he said softly. 

‘Where in the Middle East?’ I said, my voice quiet. I almost didn’t even want to know.

‘All around, but mostly in Syria for the first few months.’ He nodded. ‘There’s a pretty bad civil war over there at the moment, and they need as many people to help as they can. I figured that was probably where I was needed most.’

‘Be careful, won’t you?’ I said, serious.

‘I will be,’ he promised, equally as serious. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine.’

We were both silent for a moment, the air thick with unspoken worry. I didn’t know much about the Middle East, but I knew that too often, people who went over there, even if it was for a good cause, didn’t come back.

‘Well,’ I said finally, poking his foot with mine and thrilling at the touch, ‘I guess you’ll have to call me while you’re over there.’

He laughed and the tension in the room was lost. ‘I guess I will.’ And we moved onto talking about something else.  
  


* * *

  
We were in the middle of sharing drinking stories when Bertholt and Reiner stood up and quickly walked together across the room.

‘Um, we’ll be back in a minute, guys,’ said Reiner over his shoulder, before Bert grabbed him around the waist and pulled him out of the room, yanking the door shut behind them. I giggled and Marco shook his head with a knowing look. ‘Those two are completely hopeless.’

I realised Marco and I were alone, and the thought sent a shiver of anticipation down my spine.

‘So,’ he said, looking at me with a soft smile, ‘Have _you_ got any good drinking stories?’ I noticed his voice was slurring more than he probably realised, but then again, so was mine.

‘Not really,’ I admitted. ‘I don’t actually drink that much.’

‘Oh?’ He leant in a little closer, enough that I could see the tiny brilliant flecks of dark emerald in his irises. ‘Well, maybe you should, you know.’

‘And why is that?’

He hummed. ‘Well, in my opinion,’ and he moved a little closer, ‘people tend to be a lot more … _agreeable_ when they’ve had a bit to drink.’

‘What do you mean by “agreeable”?’ I murmured, and yeah, I hadn’t exactly had a _lot_ of experience but I knew hard-core flirting when I saw it. The only thing missing here was him fluttering his goddamn eyelashes. Thankfully I seemed to be doing that anyway.  

‘I mean,’ he said, his voice low - and he was so close now our knees were almost touching – ‘that people get far more, well, _open._ They do things they wouldn’t normally do otherwise.’  

 _Like you?_ I wanted to say, and it was like he read my mind because he grinned, wide and unguarded and _beautiful._

And then he ran a hand through his hair.

It was a movement that distracted me significantly for a second, because suddenly all I could think about was how soft his hair looked and how slender his fingers were, and _oh god,_ how good would it feel to run my fingers through his soft black hair and grab fistfuls of it, to pull him close to me, feel his lips pressing hard against my mine, feel our bodies pressing together, and the thought sent a thrill to my lower body-

‘Jean?’

I snapped out of it to see Marco looking at me with a perplexed expression.

‘Sorry,’ I said when I finally found my voice, ‘Zoned out for a second there.’

Marco stared at me, but I could see from the way his lips were pressed tightly together and how his eyes looked like they were dancing in the firelight that he was trying very, very hard not to laugh.

I could feel a deep blush colour my cheeks and Marco chuckled softly, obviously giving up on the whole trying-not-to-laugh thing. And then he leant a little forward and whispered in my ear - _dear god I could feel his breath against my cheek -_ ‘You look cute when you blush.’

 _Well._  
If I thought I’d been blushing before, my face must have fucking well been on _fire_ now.

I ducked my head and looked away, trying not to notice how my nose skimmed across his cheek as I turned away, and he laughed again and pulled back slightly, the low, beautiful sound vibrating from deep in his chest and reverberating through the couch.

‘Aw, I was just teasing,’ he said finally, and I reluctantly looked back at him, which was a mistake because our faces were suddenly _very_ close, enough that I could feel his warm breath fanning across my face, and he was looking straight into my eyes, and all that went through my head is that I just wanted to swim through that endless green forever, but then his head was tilting slightly forward and my eyes were fluttering closed and--

Someone loudly cleared their throat next to us.

It broke us out of whatever moment we were having, and Marco pulled back with a disappointed look on his face, his eyes still on me. I turned my head to see Ymir looking between the two of us with a sly grin on her face. I glared at her and the shit-eating grin grew wider.

‘Sorry, lovebirds, but the club’s about to close,’ she said. If her slurred voice hadn’t given away the fact that she was pretty damn drunk, the subtle swaying back and forth definitely would’ve.

‘Seriously?’ said Marco. ‘What time is it?’ I noticed with a thrill that he didn’t correct her about the whole ‘lovebirds’ thing.

I shimmied my phone out of my jeans pocket with some effort, while Marco watched, obviously amused.

My eyes widened as I turned on the screen. ‘Shit. It’s almost two-thirty in the morning.’

Marco’s eyes widened as well. ‘We’ve been talking for over two hours,’ he said, sounding thoroughly surprised, and I looked away to hide my grin.

Ymir sighed. ‘For fuck’s sakes, you guys, that’s great and all, but you really need to get out of here because they’re about to close this motherfucker down.’ She giggled obnoxiously.

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,’ I sighed, because this night was so fucking perfect and I just didn’t want to leave Marco ( _he’s leaving on Sunday, christ)_ , but I got off the couch anyway and made my way to the door. Marco didn’t follow me closely since he was saying goodbye to Ymir, so I walked out of the club, figuring I could wait for him outside, if he wanted to. I was surprised to see the club almost completely empty - except for a few overly drunk stragglers who whistled lazily at me and hooted – when only a couple of hours ago it’d been a tangled mess of sweaty limbs and loud music.

‘Hey, wait up, Jean,’ I heard Marco say, and I turned just in time to see him walk up beside me.

He reached out and grabbed my hand as though it were nothing at all, smiling broadly at me. It sent a shock through my entire system, and suddenly the pavement felt like it was swaying beneath me, like gravity just stopped working, and he was all I could see, his perfect freckles seemingly glowing in the pale moonlight, and the only thing stopping me from floating away completely was the gentle pressure of his soft, warm hand wrapped around mine. I noticed for the first time the warm, spicy scent of his cologne.

‘The night doesn’t have to end here, you know,’ he said. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry, because there was only _one_ thing that could mean and sure enough, he leant in, close enough to kiss if I moved my head forward even an inch. The next sentence came in a murmur.

‘Do you want to go back to my place?’  
  


* * *

  
I once heard someone say that nothing good happens past two o’ clock in the morning. To be fair, mostly that’s true – once it gets to that time the best thing to do is usually get a taxi, go home, and collapse into bed. Otherwise people tend to make terrible decisions and the night becomes a disaster, a story most people wish to be forgotten and buried in the back of their memories forever.

This was not one of those times.

‘I’d love to,’ were the first words out of my mouth, before I even had time to think.

Marco grinned and stepped back, and I missed the scent of his cologne like a sharp pang to my gut, before he spun on his heel and started tugging me down the street. I giggled and sped up to catch up to him, and he took the opportunity to speed up even more, letting go of my hand, which I missed with a twist in my gut.

‘What are you doing, Marco?’ I said, picking up my speed.

He flashed a grin over his shoulder, and said, ‘See if you can catch me,’ and the next thing I knew he was running full-pelt down the street, his shoes echoing noisily on the pavement.

 _Oh, fuck it,_ I thought, and grinning, picked up my own speed so I could chase him.

‘You’re so drunk,’ I said, laughing breathlessly and struggling to catch up.

‘I don’t care!’ he yelled back at me, and the only sound on that deserted street was our breath, coming in heavy gasps, the clap of our shoes on the pavement, and our breathless laughing as I tried to chase him – futilely -  while adrenaline burnt through my veins and a warm, longing feeling throbbed in my chest.  
  


* * *

 

By the time he slowed down in front of what I assumed was his apartment building, we were both totally out of breath and panting heavily, and I came to a stop with relief next to him.

‘You’re insane,’ I gasped between heavy breaths. ‘Completely insane. Are you this crazy all the time?’

He giggled and shook his head. ‘Only when I’m this drunk.’ I noticed absently a bead of sweat wind its way down the side of his cheek and glint in the pale moonlight.

I looked back at his eyes and was startled to find him staring at me as intensely as I must have been staring at him. I stepped forward, tentatively reaching out, and gently wiped away the droplet of sweat with my sleeve, acutely aware of how close we were.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around my waist, and I froze.

‘How about you?’ he murmured, and I forgot how to speak for a second because _oh my god his arms were around my waist and his lips were literally two fucking inches from mine_ but then I finally croaked out, ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean,’ and he leaned closer so our lips were almost touching, ‘Are you like this only when you’re drunk? This flirty, I mean.’

‘Well, it depends …’

‘On what?’

‘On whether I really want someone or not.’

He smiled crookedly, just a soft tug at the corner of his mouth. ‘And?’ I heard the unspoken words: _do you want me?_

Instead of answering him, I slid my hand up his face and through his hair – _just as good as I thought it would be_ – to come to rest at the back of his head. I looked into his eyes, and they were dark and hungry and lustful and I thought mine probably looked the same.

I tilted my face up as I pulled his head down, and he moved closer somehow, wrapping his arms tighter around me in a snug, warm embrace, and my eyes fluttered closed as his lips pressed against mine.

I’d kissed a lot of guys before, but this was different, like a scene from a movie. His lips were soft, yet firm, moving slowly against mine in a gentle, sensual dance, skin on skin, the tiniest hint of tongue on tongue, his desire bleeding out from the inside through the movement of his lips pressing on mine. It was slow and soft and then he pushed forward a little, and I pushed back, winding my arms tighter around his neck and opening my mouth for him to slip his tongue into, and then he did just that, letting it slide wetly and slowly against mine, and when he bit my lip I swear to god I almost melted right there.

I forgot where we were. I forgot that this was a man I’d just met. I forgot the cold breeze swirling around us, and the fact that it was past two in the morning, and I forgot everything except for the slide of his lips on mine, and his strong arms wrapped around me as though he was keeping me from floating away.

I’d never kissed anybody like this before. But then again, I’d never met anyone quite like Marco before.

It might have been a second, or a minute, or an entire lifetime, but at last he pulled back and leant his forehead against mine.

‘Wow,’ I breathed, and we both laughed shakily. He looked as exhilarated as I felt.

‘Upstairs?’ he murmured, sliding one hand lazily up and down my spine.

I nodded, the skin of my forehead brushing on his, and he pulled back, his hand in mine again, and led the way through the front door of his apartment building and upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't think I need to spell out what's going to happen now ... The next chapter will probably bump the rating up to Mature or Explicit (yay!) and it'll very hopefully be posted within the week.


	3. 2:30 am

Marco practically dragged me upstairs, his hand warm and slightly sweaty in mine. We were still breathless from running here and the two flights of narrow stairs definitely hadn’t helped, our panting loud in the empty, softly lit corridors as Marco led me to his apartment. 

Finally we stopped outside a door with peeling blue paint -  _number 31,_  I noticed absently - and fumbling around in his pockets Marco finally pulled the key out, giving me a sheepish grin. He unlocked the door and pushed it open for me to walk in. 

'M'lady,' he said, tipping an imaginary hat in my direction, and I snorted and shoved his shoulder playfully as I walked past him into the apartment. 

'I am honestly feeling so attacked right now,' I muttered, and Marco's laughter was all it took to make me burst into giggles as well, but then the sound was stifled as Marco closed the door behind us and pushed me up against it, pressing our lips together for the second time that night.

It was different from the first time we'd kissed outside in the moonlight; less an intense metaphorical explosion of fireworks, and more a gentle, almost lazy slide of lips against lips. It certainly wasn't any less hot though, and I noticed through the haze of alcohol and adrenaline running through my veins that my pants were starting to get uncomfortably tight.

Marco wound his arm around my waist, sighing into my mouth, holding me flush against his body, and I moaned quietly. I moved my hands from where they'd been resting on his shoulders, sliding them down over his collarbones -  _his perfect collarbones that I just wanted to bite at and never stop until I'd bruised a dozen hickeys into his gorgeous skin -_ slowly, almost teasingly over his chest, long fingers ghosting over his nipples, and Marco breathed a low moan against my mouth before pulling back slightly, my hands still lingering on his chest. 

'Jesus,  _fuck,_ Jean ...' he muttered, chuckling darkly. 

I grinned. 'What, you like it when I do that?' And I pressed my finger purposefully against Marco's nipples, eliciting a whine that turned into a low growl when I dropped my hands and leaned back so there was some space between us.

Marco glared at me petulantly and I struggled to hold back my laughter, biting the inside of my cheek. 

'You are such a fucking tease,' he said, his face serious, and it was too much for me, the laughter erupting out of my mouth, but then Marco was leaning forward again, cutting off my chuckles with another lengthy kiss that ended with my hands woven deep into his hair and our bodies tangled together against the door of the apartment, his leg rubbing at the aching spot between my thighs.

Marco pressed a hand against my chest and our lips parted with a quiet, wet sound. I gave him a questioning look and he started to answer, but then my stomach interrupted by rumbling loudly. He chuckled softly.

'I was gonna say we should go to the bedroom, but maybe you should eat something first.'

I groaned and leaned on him heavily. 'But I don't wanna eat anything,' I whined, my voice muffled by his shirt.

Marco laughed and flipped on the light switch next to us, illuminating what I guessed was the main room of his apartment. It was an expansive space with a large TV and a comfy looking couch over near the far window, with corridors leading off to other rooms on opposite walls. In the far corner I saw several large suitcases piled up, obviously for the trip tomorrow, and the sight sent a little twinge straight to my chest.

Marco had taken advantage of my distraction and started tugging me over to where the kitchen was. I followed him reluctantly, sitting down on a small stool he pulled out for me at the counter. 

'So, what do you want to eat?' He leaned on the countertop and looked at me, his lips pink and wet from the kissing. 

'You,' I said simply, and Marco shook his head, a reluctant grin spreading across his face.

'No, Jean,' he sighed dramatically, 'not yet.'

'Why do I have to eat anything?' I muttered, but then my stomach growled again and I realised begrudgingly that I  _was_ kinda starving and I’d had nothing to eat in the past few hours. Marco looked at me pointedly and I sighed, knowing I was defeated.

'How about just a packet of chips then?' I said, and Marco nodded, turning and getting some from a top cupboard. I noticed how he had to stand up on his toes to get them, and how the action made his shirt ride up and expose a sliver of the muscled, tanned skin of his lower back. My eyes trailed down to where the skin disappeared into his blue jeans, tight over the beautiful curve of his--

I looked away when it became too much to bear, crossing my legs and willing myself not to come in my pants.  _Stay calm, Jean,_ warned my inner voice.  _Stay. Calm._

Marco turned around and put the packet of chips in front of me, and I opened it, promptly starting to shove them in my mouth. God, I actually was starving _._

I stopped after a moment when I realised Marco was staring at me with an incredulous expression. 

'You want one?' I asked, my mouth filled with potatoey deliciousness, but he shook his head, obviously amused. 

'I'm going to have a shower, actually,' he said, and I stopped my frantic chewing to listen. 'To freshen up, you know, after all that running before.’ He grinned at the memory. ‘You can just stay here and eat for a bit.' 

I nodded and watched him silently as he started to walk out of the kitchen. He stopped for a second, his hand resting on the countertop, and I raised an eyebrow.

'Or you can join me, if you want,' he said casually over his shoulder, and walked down the corridor. I froze, a chip halfway to my mouth. A second later I heard a door close and the muffled sound of a shower start up. 

I put down the now half-empty bag of chips and slumped forward. I folded my arms on the cool countertop, resting my head on them. 

'Oh my god,' I whispered, my voice muffled through the sleeves. 'Oh my god. Oh my actual. Fucking.  _God._ ' 

I sat up then, staring blankly at the wall, my head spinning a little - though I didn't know whether that was because of the alcohol, or a lack of sleep, or because  _Marco just asked me to get naked with him in a goddamn shower_ and there was only one way to interpret  _that._

But then again, said the little voice of reason in my head, there was no reason to freak out over this. It wasn't like I'd never messed around with a guy before, or had a one-night stand, or gotten naked with a guy, and here I was freaking out about showering with Marco, and for the life of me I couldn't figure out why. 

 _You_ know _why,_ said the quiet, nagging voice in the back of my head,  _it's because you really, really like this guy, probably more than you've ever liked any guy before,_ and with that hard truth settling in my stomach, I slid off the stool, trying not to notice how my legs trembled slightly.

I realised with a start that it'd probably been a couple of minutes since Marco had gotten in the shower and I'd started my mini panic attack, and  _shit,_ maybe he'd think I wasn't interested in doing this, and christ, I really fucking wanted to--

A door whooshed open and I heard water splashing down on tiles. I heard Marco's voice as he called out my name.

'Jeaaan, you gonna come join me or what?' 

I grinned, ignoring the nerves twisting slightly in my stomach. Instead of answering him I walked towards the corridor as quietly as I could, quickly shrugging off my clothes as I made my way to the bathroom. One by one they got tossed on the couch against the wall - I hoped Marco wouldn't mind, but knowing him he probably wouldn't care in the slightest - until finally I was standing there in the cold in nothing but my underwear. I walked down the corridor, my heart thudding in my chest, and walked in the open door of the bathroom. 

It was a spacious room with dark blue tiles, a surprisingly large bath, and a shower surrounded by frosted glass, through which I could see the silhouette of Marco running hands through his hair, and god  _damn,_ my underwear had suddenly gotten a lot tighter. 

I was still in sneaky mode and Marco seemed unaware of my presence at the moment, so I shucked my underwear, painfully aware of the relief I felt as my dick sprang free. 

Licking my lips in anticipation, I closed the door gently and quickly crossed to the shower. 

'Marco,' I said quietly as warning, and I heard a quick intake of breath. And then the shower door slid open and Marco was  _there,_ looking at me with such an open, honest, beautiful look on his face, his eyes looking so unguarded and perfectly green that I didn't notice he was naked and glistening with water until a moment later. At which point my cheeks grew unbearably hot.

His serious expression broke into an easy grin at my face and he reached out for my hand, a thrill coursing through me as his slender, wet fingers clasped mine and he pulled me gently into the cubicle, sliding the door shut behind me.

Hot water cascaded over me, running in rivulets down my shoulders and stomach and into my hair, turning it into a wet mess. 

I was suddenly acutely aware of how close we were in the small cubicle, our toes almost touching on the tiles, but then his hands were reaching up towards my face and all thoughts completely disappeared as he tilted his head forward, pressing soft lips to mine. 

Kissing someone you really liked was one thing. 

Kissing someone you really liked while naked in a shower cubicle together? That was something else entirely, and it sent a deep, burning thrill all the way down to my toes.

I leaned upwards into the kiss, suddenly desperate to deepen it, to claim Marco's mouth and let him claim my own in return. His tongue slipped between my lips and I greeted it eagerly, letting my own mingle with his in a sensual dance. His hands slipped down my back as we kissed, until finally they came to rest at the bottom of my back, and I knew that if he moved just an inch lower he’d be grabbing my ass. He obviously knew that too because the next second his hands had slipped lower and he fucking _squeezed it._

I made an embarrassingly high-pitched noise in the back of my throat and he let his hands roam over my ass, slender fingers everywhere, and I moaned into his mouth, the sound rumbling through my chest. He pulled back, his hands still all over me, and I looked into his eyes. They were wild with lust and I knew I probably looked just the same.

‘I want to suck you off,’ he said, and I gasped as he bent down slightly, just enough to press quick kisses to the underside of my jaw and to the hollow of my neck, nipping across my collarbones and my shoulders and sucking tiny marks into my pale skin that I knew would turn bruised and purple tomorrow.

‘What’s that scar on your shoulder?’ he asked suddenly, and I froze. _Shit. Shit shit shit._

He stood up to his full height and looked at me, his eyes worried, and I tried to remember how to breathe properly.

‘It’s nothing, really,’ I lied, ‘I just … I fell off my bike when I was younger, that’s all.’ I hated myself for this, hated that I’d forgotten about it, that I’d been such a fucking _idiot,_ and this here was the reason why I didn’t let people get close to me, in the fear that they’d ask and I wouldn’t be able to avoid their questions, their endless nagging that only brought them closer to the truth …

Marco’s hand moved up my shoulders and he tilted my head to face him. I hadn’t even realised I’d looked away.

‘It looks a bit big to be just that, Jean,’ he said gently, and for a very brief moment I considered telling him, but I knew I couldn’t. Not tonight.

I pulled his head down then and kissed him hard and fast, desperate to get back into the mood we’d had before, and sure enough, a minute later I was hard again, and - judging from the few shy glances I’d thrown downwards - so was he.

‘About what you said before …’ I panted against his mouth between kisses.

I felt him smile against my lips but then the contact was gone, and his head was moving down, his mouth pressing quick kisses against my wet skin, the light stubble of his jaw grazing against my chest, my ribs, the trail leading down from my navel, and skirting over my hips as I held in a breath.

And then his mouth was all around me, a wet, enveloping, _gorgeous_ heat engulfing my length, and I swear to god I almost came right then and there.

He bobbed his head, lips sliding over the sensitive skin, and I moaned loudly, the guttural sound echoing around the bathroom. My head fell back against the frosted sliding door of the shower and I grabbed onto Marco’s head for dear life with one hand, the other coming up to cover my mouth to muffle my groans. I’d had blowjobs before but Jesus fucking _Christ,_ they’d never been anything like this. If I’d known it would feel this good to be sucked off by someone who knew what they were doing, I definitely would’ve been looking for them a lot more, that was for sure. There was a suspicion in the back of my mind, though, that maybe it felt so fucking amazing, simply just because it was Marco.

I let that thought drift away and focused on the toe-curling sensation of Marco’s wet mouth surrounding me.

It was probably only a few minutes later (although I really had no idea how long it’d been, when it was always so hard to know how long sex lasted since it was all just one constant stream of pleasure), when I started feeling the familiar coil of tension building in my gut.

‘I-I’m gonna come, Marco,’ I cried, my words strained, and he doubled his efforts, his head bobbing up and down quickly, and in the millisecond before I came he looked up, his eyes locking with mine, and I rode out my orgasm with those beautiful green irises gazing at me, and my hand gripping his hair tightly.

I slumped back against the shower door when it I’d finished, remnants of the pleasure still buzzing through my veins. Marco stood up and swallowed, his face flushed and his lips swollen.

I suddenly realised that I hadn’t seen him come, and moving closer, I reached out and took his length in my hand, pumping it slowly. It was a little awkward from this angle but obviously it was good enough because Marco groaned and threw his head back, baring a sea of dark freckles along his neck. On an impulse I leaned forward and pressed my lips to the underside of his jaw, evidently a good idea because he began to moan even louder and raised his hands to rest in my hair, clenching the strands and using it to push my mouth deeper and harder against his skin. My hand stroked faster and faster, my other hand sliding up his waist to rest at the small of his back, pulling him closer to me. I could smell something on the flesh pressed against my face, probably a mix of the spicy cologne he’d been wearing earlier and something else indescribable, something warm and comforting and mouth-watering that was just _Marco,_ and it drove me wild. All I wanted in that moment was to move closer, deeper, to inhale and devour that delicious scent so I could never forget it for as long as I lived.

The next second Marco was coming, his back arching against me, his breathy, frantic gasps of ecstasy filling the bathroom. I pressed my face deeper against his neck, feeling him come against my stomach and my hand, long white spurts that were quickly washed down the drain.

When his grip had loosened slightly in my hair, I pulled back, surprised to see a dark purple hickey bruised into the skin just underneath his jaw.

‘Sorry about that,’ I said absentmindedly, reaching out to let my fingers brush over it.

Marco shivered and shook his head. ‘No, I-I like it.’ He pulled me into a lazy kiss and sighed into my mouth before leaning back, his forehead against mine. We stood like that, silently for a moment, the water rushing over our heads.

‘We should probably go to bed,’ he finally murmured. ‘I don’t know what time it is, but I’m really tired.’

‘Me too.’ It was true. I always felt a bit drained after having an orgasm, for some reason, and that combined with the fact that it was probably close to four in the morning had me feeling especially worn-out.

Marco reached out and turned the shower faucets off, and we were left standing naked in the cold air.  


* * *

  
I fell asleep quickly with Marco stretched out beside me – naturally he’d first gotten me some boxers to wear and an old shirt of his, since it was so cold – but not long after I’d fallen asleep I woke up again, to the unmistakeable sound of someone clacking away on a keyboard. I raised my head and looked blearily at the clock on the bedside table – 5 _:39,_ it said, in luminescent green numbers – and then looked over at the other side of the bed, where Marco was gazing at something intently on his laptop. I sat up, my head fuzzy, and he glanced over at me at last.

‘Oh, sorry for waking you up,’ he said.

‘What are you looking at?’ I asked, nodding towards the laptop.

He bit his lip and tilted the screen to show me. I saw the dull grey colours of the US Army website, and a twinge went through my chest.

‘You really are going tomorrow,’ I stated in a small voice.

He nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘Why?’

He stared at me for a moment. ‘Because I feel like I have to.’

It was my turn to stare at him. ‘Why do you feel like you have to?’

‘… I can’t tell you that.’

I looked away. I could hear the pain in his voice and knew this was a touchy subject, so instead of pushing it further I snuggled closer, resting my head against his shoulder and taking his hand in mine.

‘I don’t want you to go,’ I admitted. ‘It’s weird cause we’ve only just met, but I really, _really,_ don’t want you to go.’

‘It’s not that weird,’ he said. He shut the laptop and leaned forward, placing it on the ground next to the bed. He leaned back against the pillows and I resumed my position against his shoulder. ‘To be honest, I’m not that keen on going either,’ he said a second later.

‘Then why are you?’

‘Honestly …’ He breathed out heavily. ‘I feel like it’s my duty. I’m worried for myself, of course, but I also … I really want to do this. I want to help people. I want to save lives. And this is one of the best ways I can make that happen at the moment.’

I sighed. ‘I guess that makes sense. Still.’ I swallowed, slightly nervous. ‘I’ll miss you.’

He stilled, and then I felt his lips brush very softly against the top of my head.

He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, reaching out with the other to turn the bedside lamp off, and then he was rolling over in the darkness, on top of me, his body flush against mine and his arms propping himself up on either side of my head. He began to press hungry kisses against my lips and my eyes and my cheeks, as though he could chase away the sadness hanging between us, and I returned the gestures just as eagerly, relishing the feel of his body on mine.  


* * *

  
Later, after we’d both come for the second time that night amidst twisted sheets and breathy moans and I could still taste his come in my mouth, we lay wrapped together, a tangle of naked, warm limbs and lazily beating hearts. As I was about to fall asleep I thought I heard him whisper ‘I’ll miss you too,’ very quietly against my shoulder, but I’d slipped into a deep, peaceful slumber before I could ask him if he’d really said the words, or if it had only been my imagination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is just over 10k words so it's officially the longest thing I've ever written. Yikes. 
> 
> Next chapter will be posted on next Sunday, probably.


	4. Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing is almost 20k words and I'm not entirely sure how I feel about that (especially since this was *supposed* to be a one-shot).
> 
> Also, it's probably a good idea to get a strong drink and strap yourself in, cause this chapter's going to be a bumpy ride.

That morning, I came into consciousness slowly.

First I noticed the faint sound of traffic outside, then the unfamiliarly soft pillow against my cheek, and then the warmth of what felt like sunshine all along my back. I turned over, still half-asleep, and vaguely noticed that the heat wasn’t actually from sunshine at all, but from a big squishy thing that was breathing lightly onto my hair and had arms that were currently holding me in a death-grip. I yawned and slowly opened my eyes, my head still groggy from sleep.

And _wow, how could I have forgotten?_

Marco’s face was mere inches from mine, his features completely peaceful in sleep. I stared at him for a second, remembering last night – well, early morning, really.

I’d been a little worried that when I woke up, I would no longer find him so beautiful without the haze of alcohol clouding my senses.

But as it turned out, there had been no need to worry because he was more gorgeous in the harsh light of day than I could have ever imagined. I wanted nothing more than to press my face into the soft flesh of his shoulder and stay there forever, wrapped securely in his arms.

But now that I thought about it … I hadn’t exactly had a lot of experience with one-night stands, but I’d had enough to know that cuddling the morning after wasn’t exactly usual protocol.

Indecision suddenly struck me. Should I leave now, with my phone number scribbled on a scrap of paper on his pillow? Should I stay until he woke up and then awkwardly excuse myself? Or should I just stay and make him breakfast and then do coupley things like watch TV on the couch and go out on a lunch date and—

I got lost in that train of thought for a moment, my mind wandering to fantasies of what it would be like to actually date Marco, rather than just have a one-night stand with the guy. Cheesy domestic images flitted through my head, unbidden; coming home to his apartment after a day of uni to find him standing in the living room with a bottle of wine in his hand and a grin on his face; meeting up after class to go to the movies together and spending the entire time with our hands entwined in the dark cinema; him cooking me breakfast on lazy Sunday mornings, and me interrupting by wrapping my arms around him from behind as he flipped pancakes.

My heart clenched at the thought and I shifted backwards on the bed, careful not to wake Marco, until at last his arms fell from my body and onto the sheets with a soft _whumpf_. Looking at his face like this, like we did this everyday, felt almost wrong. He didn’t deserve these ridiculous fantasies, me pining after him like a goddamn lovesick teenager. He deserved someone so much better than me, someone who was every bit as amazing and kind and smart as he was. He didn’t need some dude in his early twenties who spent too much time painting shitty portraits of people instead of doing homework, who played too many violent video games and swore too fucking much and (admittedly) had a permanent bitch-face a lot of the time. Marco deserved better. He really did.

As I stood up and sneaked down the corridor to put on my clothes from yesterday, I told myself that this was just a little, manageable crush on a guy who, to be fair, was really awesome and hot and nice, and that all I needed to do was back off a bit and whatever feelings I had would fade away.

I ignored the unmistakeable twinging in my chest that said it was already far too late for that, and began to get dressed.  


* * *

  
My phone was on the floor, weirdly enough, but obviously somewhere between Marco kissing me against the door last night and the shower sex, it’d fallen out of my jeans pocket and tumbled to the ground. Thankfully it wasn't broken though, and turning the screen on, I saw I had fourteen messages – ten drunken ramblings from Eren, unsurprisingly, three from Armin asking where I’d gone, and a drunken one from Ymir, even though I couldn’t remember actually giving her my number. I replied to Armin first, saying that I’d gone to another club for a bit and then gone home, and that I didn’t want anyone to bother me today.

I scrolled through my contacts and brought up Connie’s number, since I still couldn’t figure out what the proper code of conduct was when it came to morning-afters and one-night stands, and Connie had many times proven himself to be the undisputed expert on such matters. I opened up the text window and sat on the arm of the couch.

 **_To: The Con Man  
_ ** _Yo dude r u up I gotta ask you something_

A minute later my phone vibrated.

 **_From: The Con Man  
_** _Dude r u fucking kidding. it’s like noon of course I’m up. what did u wanna ask??_

I looked at the time on my phone then for the first time, disbelieving, but shit, it actually was almost twelve o’clock.

 **_To: The Con Man  
_** _So u know how you’re like the undisputed expert on one-night stands and stuff_

 **_From: The Con Man  
_** _Mhm u know it to be true_

 **_To: The Con Man  
_** _Ok so I had one last night n it was awsm but i kinda slept over and now I don’t know what to do??_

A second later my phone vibrated with an incoming call from Connie, and I sighed, swiping my thumb to answer it. Hesitantly, I raised it to my ear.

‘Congratulations!’ Connie bellowed immediately, and I shushed him.

‘Goddamnit man, the other guy’s still sleeping, you idiot,’ I said.

‘But you got laid!’ he said loudly, albeit this time a bit quieter. ‘ _I_ think that’s cause for celebration.’

‘Oh my god, okay,’ I said, groaning. ‘Thanks. Thanks so fucking much. But that’s not the reason I texted you, okay?’

‘Oh right,’ he said. ‘It’s the morning-after.’ I could literally hear the glee in his voice.

‘Yes, and I have no fucking idea what to do.’

He snorted. ‘You can’t just … I don’t know, leave?’

‘I guess I could, but, uh …’ I paused. ‘I actually really like this guy. And I don’t want to leave him just like that.’ I avoided mentioning the fact that ‘really like’ was a massive understatement, since I’d just fantasised what it would be like fully _dating_ the man after knowing him for all of twelve hours.

I could almost hear Connie nodding thoughtfully on the other end of the line.

‘Does he like you too?’ he finally said, and I shrugged even though he couldn’t see me.

‘I don’t know. I think so. Maybe.’

Connie snorted. ‘Yeah, you sound _real_ certain about it.’

‘Shut up man,’ I grumbled back, and he laughed.

‘No, well, maybe you should just, I don’t know, _ask_ the guy when he wakes up,’ he said doubtfully. ‘If he likes you too then he might ask you to stay. If not, then you can just leave. No problems.’

‘That was terrible advice, but I guess it sounds like a plan,’ I said, my voice laced with sarcasm.

‘Hey, it’s the best I’ve got,’ Connie said defensively. ‘I, for one, don’t usually have one-night stands with people I actually have feelings for—’

‘Okay, Connie, thank you, thank you,’ I said quickly, eager to end the conversation.

‘It’s no big deal,’ he said after a moment. ‘Just helping out a mate.’ He paused. ‘Even if my advice is apparently _terrible_ —’

‘Oh my god, you asshole, _I’m sorry, okay—_ ’

Connie laughed, tinny through the speaker, and I rolled my eyes.

‘I’m hanging up on you,’ I said, my voice flat.

‘Aw, don’t be like that.’

‘As long as you stop being an ass.’

‘Yeah, well, _that’s_ never going to happen …’

I snorted. ‘I’ll talk to you later, Connie. Thanks again for the advice.’

‘Yeah, yeah, okay Jean. Do what you gotta do. Bro out,’ he said, still chuckling, and ended the call.

It was only then that I heard the creak of a bed down the corridor, and I froze. _Shit, what if Marco had been awake the whole time and heard me talking about him?_

I shimmied the phone into my jeans pocket and walked quickly down the corridor, and sure enough, there was Marco, sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes, looking far cuter than I could’ve imagined this early in the morning.

He yawned and looked up at me as I came into the room, his eyes bleary.

‘Jeeeaaan?’ he said, a yawn stretching my name out in a criminally adorable way. ‘Who were ya talking to?’

‘Oh, just a friend on my phone,’ I said nervously. It was neither a truth nor a lie, but I was silently thanking whatever gods there were that he didn’t yet seem conscious enough to realise I’d been talking about him.

‘Oh, okay,’ he said, and shook his head as though that could wake him up. He threw the sheets off and stood up, and oh sweet mother of god, how could I have forgotten that he’d fallen asleep naked last night as well?

I turned away, my cheeks a little pink, and judging by the swift glances I threw in his direction, he looked embarrassed as well. Sure, it was nothing I hadn’t seen, and admittedly I’d had his cock halfway down my throat only a few hours ago, but it was always different in the light of day, more real and less like a hot dream.

Of course, we also didn’t have the haze of alcohol obliterating our self-consciousness about being naked in front of each other.

‘Um, I’ll just put some boxers on,’ he said bashfully, and I nodded, not quite trusting myself to look at him because I knew my eyes would instantly flick downwards. I heard the rustle of clothes as he looked for something on the ground, and a second later he was speaking again.

‘Am I presentable now?’ he said quietly, and I turned around, eyeing the blue silk boxers riding low on his hips.  _Oh god._

‘Uh, they’re nice,’ I said shakily, ‘they look good on you,’ and without quite realising what I was doing I stepped forward until I was close enough to lean up and kiss him. I noticed with a deep thrill that the hickey I’d bruised into his neck last night was still there, dark and purple in the shadow of his jaw.

He looked down at me, his eyes different without the freedom of alcohol, more reserved and more lucid, yet still with the same indescribable kindness that had drawn me to him last night.

Shyly, I wound my arms around his neck, taking in the way his eyes stayed trained on mine, and stood on my toes to press my lips softly against his.

I was terrified that this kiss wouldn’t be like it was last night, out on the sidewalk and in the shower and against his apartment door and on his bed, ferocious and desperate and hot, our limbs tangling together, his breath hot and heavy against my lips. I was terrified that we wouldn’t have the same connection that we’d had last night, flirting over beers and discussing favourite movies and music, chatting like we’d always been close, nudging our ankles together like awkward teenagers on a first date.

But most of all, I was terrified that the burning desire I felt to be close to him last night was only due to being drunk, and that now I would feel nothing.

My fears were _completely_ unjustified, I soon found out.

Marco’s hands instantly splayed across my back and he pressed down into the kiss, lips smooth and wet against mine. His kissing was different than it had been last night, I realised, less forward and less desperate, and a bit warier, almost coy. It felt like a first kiss in every way, even though it was anything but – a little shy, both of us trying to figure out each other’s rhythms, gauging each other’s reactions to a gentle bite or a bit of tongue.

It was absolutely nothing like last night, and yet even better, especially without the fuzz of alcohol separating my body from my brain. Even if I did detect a bit of morning breath, I didn’t give a shit because I wouldn’t have stopped for the world, and I’m sure Marco didn’t want to either, judging by the tiny, strangled moans I could hear him making in the back of his throat.

At last he reluctantly pulled back, our lips parting with a soft wet sound.

He ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair and smiled shyly. ‘Did you wanna go get lunch?’  


* * *

  
The first thing I learnt about Marco that afternoon was that he was very, _very_ different when he wasn’t drunk.

And yet, it made me like him even more than I had before – when he was sober he seemed more thoughtful, noticeably thinking over words in his head before he spoke them, attentively listening to me far more than speaking. He almost seemed more intelligent as well, talking enthusiastically about working as a doctor when I questioned him about it, using a bunch of technical terms I’d never heard before in my life, and speaking knowledgeably of his favourite nineteenth-century artists when I mentioned I liked painting as a hobby (although ‘liked’ was a bit of an understatement since I basically lived and breathed it).

The second thing I learnt about Marco that afternoon was that he was, quite possibly, the nicest person I had ever met. And I was friends with _Armin,_ for god’s sakes, who never had a bad word to say about anyone and was the sort of guy who’d buy you coffee and a donut if you’d had a bad day, without ever expecting anything in return.

But Marco was like a literal _saint._ A perfect, freckled, honest-to-god _saint_.

On the way down to a nearby café to have lunch he stopped and gave a five-dollar note to a homeless man on the corner, who smiled and said ‘thanks, Marco,’ with familiarity, which led me to suspect that he probably gave the man money every day. He stopped to gently pat the dogs out for a walk in the morning and chat to the owners, and smiled and nodded ‘hello’ to just about every person who passed us on the pavement. And at the café he chatted amiably to a downtrodden looking waitress, gushing about how lovely her hair was until she was beaming at us and called us ‘cuties.' When I asked who she was, he shrugged it off with a shy smile and an ‘I don’t know, she just looked like she needed something to brighten her day.’

In short, by the time we’d finished our lunch – bacon, eggs, and toast, although it’d quickly turned into a violent fork war over the bacon – I didn’t quite believe that Marco was actually real. It all felt like some too-good-to-be-true dream, my subconscious acting out my fantasies while I slept alone on my creaky bed in my shitty apartment. I even pinched my arm subtly at one point while Marco was eating the bacon he’d somehow won from me, the bastard, but he didn’t disappear and I was forced to accept that maybe this was actually reality.

With that revelation aside, I’d realised over the course of the lunch that now-Marco was so unlike the Marco I’d known last night  - yet in all the right ways he was exactly the same - that it was downright confusing. Sure, people did act different when they were drunk, but they didn't usually act like a whole different _person._ Finally, I asked him about it when the curiosity became too much.

‘Why’re you so different when you’re drunk?’ I said, casually mopping up some egg yolk on my plate with a piece of toast.

He smiled. ‘I was waiting for you to ask me that, actually.’

‘Really?’ I paused, the toast halfway to my mouth.

‘Everyone asks me that at one point.’

‘Oh. And?’ I put the toast in my mouth and licked my fingers free of the yellow yolk, noticing gleefully how Marco was staring at my mouth with a hungry look on his face.

‘Uh …’ He cleared his throat, his eyes finally flickering back to mine, ‘Alcohol makes me more open, more confident, you know. Just like anyone else when they drink. It’s not so strange.’ I noticed the words almost seemed forced, as though he’d rehearsed them a dozen times but still couldn’t believe them himself.

‘No, you see, I don’t think that’s it.’

His expression grew a little panicked, fear flashing in his eyes for a split-second, and I pressed my foot against his under the table to calm him down.

‘You’re very different when you’re drunk,’ I explained quickly. ‘You almost seemed like a totally different person last night. You were more open, more confident, but also …’ I struggled to find the words, conscious of his worried gaze. ‘You acted more open and confident _on purpose_. It was almost like you were using the alcohol as an excuse to act drunk, rather than actually _being_ drunk.’ The realisation hit me all at once and the words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. ‘You’re different when you’re drunk because you want to act like a different person. You don’t want to be you for a while.’

Marco stared at me, his eyes hard. ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.’

‘But it’s true, isn’t it?’

He grimaced and moved his foot so it was no longer touching mine, and I leant back, aware I’d unintentionally said something that had upset him.

‘It’s not a bad thing,’ I said eventually, loud in the frosty silence that had settled between us. His gaze flicked up, wary. ‘I mean, it’s not bad to want to be someone else for a while. Sometimes it just gets hard being _you_. I know that’s why I drink a lot of the time.’ I looked away, hoping Marco couldn’t see the faint moisture in my eyes. ‘I drink sometimes because I just want to forget what it feels like to be me for a while. Sometimes being who I am, all this,’ I gestured vaguely to myself, ‘It gets too painful and I just want it to stop for a bit.’

‘Jean …’ he began, his eyes soft and apologetic and understanding, but I cut him off by nudging his leg under the table with my foot.

‘I know how you feel. And why you’re so different when you drink. You don’t have to explain anything.’

Marco nodded, relieved, but then his face turned down. I waited for him to speak, knowing he was collecting his thoughts.

‘I haven’t …’ he began slowly, and then all the words came in a rush. ‘I mean, no one has ever, well, realised that that was why I’m different when I’m drunk. They all believed me when I said I’m just being more open and more confident because of the alcohol, like everyone else when they drink.’ His eyes were startlingly open as he looked up at me. ‘I’ve never met anyone else who drank for the same reason I do, who just wants to be someone else for a while because … Because, like you said, I just want to forget what it feels like to be me for a little while. Or at least, I’ve never met anybody who actually admitted it.’

We stared at each other and I saw the familiar sadness from the night before had returned to his eyes.

I stood up, offering my hand for Marco to take. He stood and slipped his hand into mine, leaving a handful of dollar bills on the table, and we walked hand in hand out of the noisy café and into the early afternoon sunshine.

‘If it’s okay with you, there’s a place I’d like us to go,’ I said after a moment, and Marco glanced at me, his eyes wide.

‘Where?’

I shook my head. ‘It can be a surprise.’

‘Walking distance?’

‘Yeah, walking distance.’ I smiled and tightened my hand around his.

As it turned out, the third thing I learnt about Marco that day was a lot sadder than the first two.  


* * *

  
The park was half empty, just as I’d thought it would be. Even when I was a kid, coming here with my dad for Sunday morning walks, it had usually been just us two and a couple of other people – mostly other parents with sulky children, and the occasional person jogging on the path winding next to the lake.

That was where we were now, seated on a little wooden bench on the grass next to the water. In front of us the mirror-like stillness of the lake’s surface was interrupted every so often by a duck paddling smoothly across it.

‘You know, I’ve been living in Trost for almost my entire life,’ Marco said suddenly, shifting on the bench. ‘But somehow I’ve never been here.’

‘Yeah, it’s a bit of a well-protected secret, I guess. Plus you wouldn’t really know about it unless you were looking for it, for some reason.’

‘Like the Room of Requirement?’

I let out a snort of laughter. ‘Yes, Marco, exactly like the goddamn Room of Requirement. We are in fact living in the world of Harry Potter.’

He laughed, gleeful. ‘Does that mean I’m Harry?’

‘Of course. And I’m obviously Hermione, because I’m such a babe and everybody loves me.’

That started a round of helpless giggles, which subsided eventually into a comfortable silence, Marco watching the ducks move leisurely across the water.

I watched him gazing at them, his face calm and enthralled, and abruptly remembered the sadness I’d seen in his eyes at lunch.

I cleared my throat, nervously wiping my hands on my jeans.

‘Marco …’ I began hesitantly.

He glanced at me. ‘Yeah?’

‘I wanted to ask you something.’

He looked at me warily. ‘Okay.’

‘You …’ I struggled to find the words, but then figured the best thing to do was be honest. ‘Sometimes you look sad, and I was wondering why.’

His breath audibly hitched in his throat and I hurried on. ‘I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, if it’s too personal. I mean … I’m just some guy you’ve only known for a couple of days. I was just wondering.’

‘I … No, Jean, it’s fine,’ he said, his voice quiet. ‘I’m just surprised you noticed. A lot of people don’t.’

‘I feel like I’ve been hearing that a lot.’

‘Well, you do keep noticing stuff about me that people I’ve know for, god, all of high school never did.’ He wiped a hand over his face and grinned. ‘Makes me wonder if you’re stalking me or something.’

I snorted. ‘No, I’m sure you would’ve noticed. I’m not exactly the sneaky kind.’

‘I don’t know about that. You snuck up on me pretty well in the shower last night.’

A teenage girl walking past with her dog gave a loud burst of giggles before hurrying on, and I blushed.

‘Oh my god, Marco, you can’t just say stuff like that when we’re out in public.’

‘Why not?’ He put on a mock-offended face and raised his hands in defence. ‘We’re here, we’re queer, and I, for one, don’t give a fuck if anyone’s offended by it.’

I hid my burning face in my hands. ‘Oh my god, _dude._ ’

Marco laughed loudly and poked my shoulder. I grunted, refusing to move.

‘Okay, about what you said before,’ he said, his voice unexpectedly serious, and I lifted my head.

He looked ahead at the lake and I waited silently, unease twisting faintly in my gut.

‘When I was a kid,’ he began hesitantly, ‘about eight or nine, I think, I had this friend. We did everything together. We went to each other’s houses after school, we went to the movies and the pool, and we generally just spent every second of our lives together, you know. We were so close.’ I nodded, dreading where this could be going.

‘So, one day, when we were out playing …’ Marco’s voice trailed off and I reached over slowly, squeezing his leg in encouragement. He took a shaky breath and kept talking, albeit a bit slower.

‘He’d been having really, really bad headaches for a while, and everyone just assumed he was sick or had a cold or something, you know, and the doctors just gave him some medication ... But that day, when we were out playing, he, uh … he collapsed. I picked him up and carried him back to his parents’ house, and they took him to the hospital.’ He fell silent, his eyes distant.

‘And?’ I dreaded the answer.

‘It was an aneurysm, Jean,’ he said very quietly. ‘In his brain, here,’ he pointed to the side of his head, just above his ear. ‘He’d been born with it and there was nothing we could do. There was nothing _anyone_ could do. We had no idea, but maybe if we’d known about it earlier than he could have ... but it was too late.’ He looked down at the ground. ‘Not even the doctors could save him then.’ He put his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking.

I gradually became aware that I’d stopped breathing somewhere in the middle of all that and exhaled slowly. There was nothing I could say to this, no words that would make him feel better, and I knew that from experience. In the end, the best thing I could do was wrap my arms around his frame and wait until he was ready to start talking again, and that was exactly what I did, resting my chin gently on the top of his head.

Eventually, after what could have been one minute or twenty, he lowered his hands and leant into my hold, resting his head on my chest.

‘That’s the reason I became a doctor,’ he finally said. ‘I wanted to help people, and I wanted to save lives. I wanted to make sure that no one would feel the pain I did, losing someone like that.’

‘I joined the army to get my degree because my family didn’t have enough money to send me to college or uni. And now I have to go to a warzone tomorrow and leave behind everyone, all my friends and family and everything I care about...’

‘It’s not fair, is it,’ I said quietly.

He shook his head against my chest, soft hair brushing my chin, and I clutched him just a little closer.

After a moment he said softly, ‘You look sad sometimes as well,’ and my breath hitched. _Damn._

I felt him lift his head to look at me. ‘Jean?’

I purposefully gazed off in the distance at the lake, not meeting his eyes.

‘When I was about ten,’ I said slowly, ‘I was in a car accident with my aunt. It wasn’t her fault, it was late at night and there was a storm and other person wasn’t paying attention, but anyway …’ I took a deep breath and pushed on.

‘Our car spun out of control. It flipped over and hit a tree, and we …’ The scenery of the lake shifted in front of my eyes, and suddenly I was there, on that road eleven years ago, and I could see the overturned car and feel the rain lashing down and hear horrible, piercing screams – my screams - in my ears. ‘We were trapped in the car, upside down, and she was badly hurt…’ I winced at the memory, recalling how she had turned to me and I had screamed even louder at the sight of the deep gashes on her face, spilling dark red blood down her cheek. ‘I was hurt as well, I mean, you saw my shoulder.’ Marco nodded against my chest.

‘She managed to get out and call for help, but the seatbelt wasn’t working and I was …’ I drifted off, the terror and the pain and the horror of being unable to get out of that car still as awful in my mind as it was all those years ago.

‘You were trapped,’ Marco said gently, and I nodded.

‘I was trapped for three hours. Eventually the firemen managed to cut me out of the wreckage, but I’ve hated small spaces ever since. Sometimes something will remind me and I’ll just freak out.’

Marco snorted once, without humour. ‘That’s understandable.’

A silence drifted between us and I suddenly felt lighter, as though a weight had been lifted from my chest.

‘I don’t usually tell people that,’ I admitted, finally. ‘It usually makes them pity me, as though that would actually me feel better or something. But, you know, you told me all about your past, so I figured it was fine to trust you with that.’

Marco hummed thoughtfully. ‘Same here. I guess we both have great tragedies in our past, as melodramatic as that sounds.’

I smiled sadly. ‘I guess we do.’

We stayed like that on the park bench for a long time, Marco’s head against my chest and my arms wrapped around his warm figure, watching the ducks quack gibberish at each other on the water. It felt so natural and comfortable that it was doing absolutely nothing for my resolution not to just ask him to be my boyfriend already.

But then Marco piped up with words that filled my soul with horror.

‘My parents are throwing a going away party for me tonight. Did you wanna come?’  


* * *

  
Less than an hour later I was already seriously regretting my decision to go.

‘But they’re really nice!’ Marco insisted. ‘There’s no need for you to worry so much about meeting my parents.’

For a second I was distracted by the fuzzy feelings in my chest at how much like a couple we already were, even though we hadn’t yet discussed whatever the hell we were actually doing. Marco was focussed on buttoning up my one good dress shirt since apparently I was hopeless at it, and I was totally fixated on the sight of his white teeth biting his lower lip in concentration.

We’d come back to my apartment to get me changed out of the clothes I’d been wearing almost non-stop since yesterday afternoon, at Marco’s insistence that I absolutely _could not_ meet his parents looking like I’d been screwing all night. Not that that was exactly far from the truth, though.

‘ _Jean._ ’

‘Oh, sorry,’ I said, ‘what were you saying again?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Honestly, you get distracted way too easily.’

I sniffed. ‘Yeah, cause I was _totally_ the one who got so distracted by my ass earlier that he tripped over a chair.’

Marco flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. ‘For god’s sakes Jean, you took off your pants right in front of me _, how could I not look_ -’

‘Shhhh,’ I said, pecking a quick kiss to his lips. ‘Let’s stop this silly argument, darling.’

Marco giggled madly. ‘You are such a goof.’

He straightened up my shirt, finished at last. His fingers lingered on my shoulders. ‘See, all done. That wasn’t hard.’

‘ _Not_ what you’ll be saying later.’ I winked, trying to contain the laughter bubbling in my chest.

‘Oh my _god,_ Jean, how many beers have you actually _had_?’

I pretended to be thinking intensely. ‘Only, like, four.’

Marco snorted. ‘Okay, I’m loving this whole new hilarious side of you, but you can’t be this flirty when you’re in front of my parents. I think I would actually die.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll try not to make a fool of myself.’ A thought occurred to me. ‘Do they know that you’re out?’

Marco nodded. ‘Yeah, I’ve never really kept it a secret.’

I stared at him. ‘And they’re fine with it? You being, you know.’ I gestured in his general direction.

Marco gave me a strange look. ‘Of course. They’re pretty open to that sort of thing. Your dad isn’t?’

‘I haven’t told him,’ I said after a moment. ‘I haven’t really told anyone, to be honest, except for a couple of close friends.' _  
_

Marco’s hands were still resting on my shoulders and it seemed like he’d almost forgotten they were there. I stepped back and got on my knees to look for my good shoes.

‘It’s true what people say, you know,’ he said after a second. I glanced at him, curious.

‘About being out. It’s a great feeling, being able to be true to who you are.’

‘Yeah, I’ve heard that. I’ve just never been able to find a good time, you know?’

He nodded. ‘But still. Think about it.’ He flashed me a quick smile that I returned, finally locating the shoes under a chair. I sat on the bed and set about shoving them on my feet, while Marco looked idly around the room.

‘Your apartment’s nice,’ he said, and I snorted.

‘You don’t have to act like you actually like it,’ I muttered, grinning. ‘I _live_ here and even I think it’s a shit-hole.’

‘Oh,’ he said quietly. Then, ‘In that case, it’s a shit-hole.’

I burst into helpless laughter and he joined in, the joyful noise echoing in my tiny bedroom.

At least, it did until I pulled him down onto the bed and pressed our lips together in a deep kiss. I set about taking off the pants he’d just shimmied into, much to his dismay (but then, to his very, _very_ vocal pleasure soon after).   


* * *

  
Marco’s parents lived in a nice house near the edges of the city, a real classic American-dream kind of place, with an off-white picket fence and colourful flowers growing haphazardly in the front yard, and a balcony jutting out of the second storey. The only thing missing was a tire swing hanging from one of the trees.

The going away party started at seven o’clock, and naturally once we’d finished and Marco had wriggled back into his pants, we were already five minutes late. So by the time we finally got there, we were very fashionably late.

‘Are you sure my shirt looks okay?’ I whispered nervously to him as we walked up the front path.

‘Oh my god, Jean, you look fine,’ he whispered back. ‘Stop worrying. My parents are going to love you.’

‘But how do you know for sure?’ I said, my voice rising. ‘Can you read their minds?’

He gave me a perplexed look. ‘Are you actually serious? Oh my _god._ ’

‘See, I thought not,’ I said, anxiously running a hand through my hair. ‘Oh my god, what if they hate me? What if they take one look at me and throw me out on the street?’

‘Jean,’ said Marco softly, stopping me with a hand on my chest. ‘You have to calm down.’ By now we’d reached the steps leading up to the porch.

He slung an arm around my waist, drawing me to him. I let my eyes flutter closed and leaned up into the slow, reassuring kiss he pressed against my lips. My hands wandered to roam through his soft hair, as though we had all the time in the world and I wasn’t just about to meet his parents for the first time and we weren’t late for the party as well—

‘Calm down,’ Marco said gently as he leaned back. ‘You’ll be fine.’ He looked into my eyes, his startling green mere inches from mine. He ran a thumb over my cheek and kissed me again, this time just a quick brush of lips on lips.

‘You’ll be fine,’ he repeated, and taking my hand in his, led me up the stairs and into his home.

No sooner had he opened the door and crossed the threshold than a tiny, terrifying blur of a woman flew out of nowhere and latched herself onto him, babbling in what I assumed was Italian. I stepped to the side, feeling more than a little awkward as she fussed over him, patting his cheeks and messing with his hair, talking rapidly all the while. Marco responded every so often in an increasingly exasperated voice. Finally the tiny woman pulled back from Marco and turned to me.

‘And you must be Jean?’ she said. I noticed she had a light accent.

‘Uh, yes,’ I said, nervously outstretching my hand to shake hers, frantically racking my brains for the phrase I’d secretly searched for that afternoon. ‘Piacere di conoscerla.’ _Pleased to meet you._ I vaguely registered Marco’s head snapping to look at me.

The lady’s mouth stretched into a wide grin. ‘ _Grazie_ , darling,’ she said, reaching out to pinch my cheek in a very motherly way. I blushed all the way to the tips of my ears and she giggled, a lovely sound that reminded me overwhelmingly of Marco’s own laugh.

‘I’m this cheeky boy’s mother, of course,’ she said, smiling sideways at Marco. I noticed he was also blushing madly. ‘Can you believe he didn’t tell me all about you until this morning, I can’t believe it-’

I stole a quick look at Marco – _when did they talk this morning?_ – but he avoided my gaze.

‘And such a lovely boy,’ his mother was still saying, ‘… so polite and cute and he knows some Italian as well, oh!’ She turned to Marco and grasped his arm. ‘You have to keep him!’

‘Now, now,’ said a broad-shouldered, tall man, who had just walked out of one of the adjoining rooms. ‘Why are you interrogating our guest, Maria?’

‘Oh,’ she flapped her hands in a dismissing gesture, ‘I wasn’t interrogating him, darling, I was just commenting on what a lovely boy Marco’s brought home for us to meet …’

The man snorted, clearly amused. He reached out a hand for me to shake.

‘The name’s Pierre,’ he said, his voice very slightly tinged with a French accent. ‘Marco’s father.’

‘Jean,’ I said. ‘Êtes-vous français? Avec un nom comme ça …’ _Are you French? With a name like that …_

He looked surprised. ‘Oui, en fait,’ he said. ‘Je suis né à Bretagne. Et vous?’ _Yes, actually, I was born in Brittany. And you?_

‘Moi aussi,’ I said, grinning. _Me too._

‘Ah oui, c’est vraiment très bon,’ he said, nodding thoughtfully. ‘C’est une très belle pays. C’est là que j’ai rencontré Maria.’ _It’s a very beautiful place. I met Maria there._ He smiled fondly at his wife.

‘Okay, guys, I have absolutely no clue what you’re saying, but I hope it’s not about me,’ said Marco, his voice almost petulant.

I looked at him, grinning. ‘Non, ce n’est pas.’ He stared at me, exasperated, and I quickly translated. ‘I mean, no, it’s not.’

‘Okay, good,’ he said, his eyes wide. ‘Now that we’re all speaking a language I can actually understand’ – I snickered at the adorably miffed look on his face – ‘how about we all go have something to drink?’   


* * *

  
Marco’s family, as I quickly discovered, was fricking _huge._ I’d half-thought he’d been lying about the sheer size of it last night at the club, but as it turned out, Marco really did have three sisters and two brothers and an endless web of aunties and uncles and godfathers and random people who I wasn’t sure how he was related to.

I had been nervous that they wouldn’t like me, that a massive Italian family – well, Italian and French, counting his father’s side - with so much traditional culture would dislike the openly gay guy dating their youngest son, but it turned out I had little reason to worry. With the exception of Marco’s older brother, Rob, who gave me dirty looks the entire night and who ignored me when I asked him to pass the potatoes during dinner – what a _dick,_ I wanted delicious golden potatoes, _goddamnit_ – the rest of Marco’s family were kind and generous and generally just as awesome as I’d hoped they would be. They talked to me in a mix of Italian and English (and occasionally French) and chatted about Marco doing _this_ and Marco being _that,_ and _oh, what a lovely young man I was,_ and gave me sly, knowing grins when I caught Marco’s eye across the room and smiled without thinking.

After dinner was finished and I was more than ready to collapse on a couch and sleep off the food-hangover, we all crowded into the living room to listen to the going-away speeches. For a second I was petrified I would have to do one, and really, what the actual _fuck_ could I say about Marco in front of his family that wasn’t wildly inappropriate, but thankfully it seemed to be limited to just his parents and a couple of siblings. I ended up smushed next to Marco on the couch, of course, and when he teared up a little, despite his indignant cries of ‘ _I’m not crying,_ ’ I slung an arm around his shoulders, prompting a collective ‘awww’ from the rest of his family.

After the speeches finished, someone turned on the stereo in the corner and soon several people were dancing along to what sounded suspiciously like Taylor Swift. I spied Marco across the room and was about to go over and ask him to dance (I was sure his bizarrely accepting family would lovewatching _that_ spectacle), when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned, perplexed. It was Marco's older brother, Rob, the one that had been glaring at me all night. At the moment his face was expressionless.

‘Can we talk outside?’ he said, looking down at me.

‘Why?’

He huffed and rolled his eyes. ‘I just want to talk, man. I’ll only be a minute, I swear.’

I studied him for a second, unease burning in my gut, but maybe he really did just want to talk. ‘Fine.’

I followed him out onto the balcony, noticing that Marco cast me a worried glance as we stepped out into the cold air.

Leaning on the railing, I looked up the stars. It was a beautiful, cloudless night.

‘What do you want?’ I said.

He chuckled darkly, without humour. ‘Wow, you’re a pushy little one, aren’t you?’

‘What do you want?’ I repeated, my jaw set.

He smiled tightly, but his eyes were cold. ‘What do _you_ want with my brother?’

I was taken aback. ‘What?’

‘What are you doing with my brother?’

‘Nothing, I mean … I just really like him.’ 

‘You like him.’ His face was deadpan.

‘Yes,’ I said, my voice harsh. ‘I happen to like him a hell of a lot. Why?’ Confusion thrummed through me.

He sighed. ‘Well, too bad he doesn’t feel the same way about you.’

My eyes narrowed. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘What, you really thought he cared about you?’ He shook his head as though it was a great personal tragedy. ‘Don’t kid yourself, dude. You’re nothing but a fuckbuddy, some guy to screw before he leaves tomorrow.’

‘You’re lying.’ He had to be, he had to be just joking around or trying to mess with me or something.

He shook his head. ‘I’m not, sadly. It’s the perfect opportunity, though, isn’t it? He can screw you, make you like him, and then leave as though nothing ever happened, leaving a broken heart in his wake.’ He smirked. ‘You’re not the first guy he’s brought home like this, by the way. If I remember, correctly,’ he said, 'The last one was a hot blonde girl two months ago.' 

I licked my lips, disbelieving. ‘Girl?’

‘What, he didn’t tell you he was bisexual?’ He snorted. ‘Probably worried you’d think he was a whore-’

‘Don’t call him that,’ I said, my voice low.

Rob raised an eyebrow.

‘Why not? He’s my brother, I can say what I like about him.’ He stepped closer, menacing. ‘What’re you gonna do about it? You really think my family would appreciate Marco's new squeeze punching one of his brothers in the face? You’d be out on the street in a second.’

I remained silent, my fists clenched tightly against my sides.

He smirked and I wanted to punch his stupid, arrogant face. ‘Exactly what I thought.’ He stepped even closer, enough that I could feel his disgusting beer-scented breath fan across my lips.

‘Listen, Jean,’ he said, enunciating every word, ‘Marco doesn’t want you as anything more than a quick fuck. He screws people all the time – men, women, pretty much anyone that seems easy. You’re nothing special, and he doesn’t give a goddamn shit about you.’ And with that last remark he walked back into the living room.

I turned and leaned heavily on the railing, resting my head on my arms and trying to remember how to breathe.

He had to be lying, he fucking _had_ to. There was no way that Marco was just using me for casual sex, it didn’t make any sense. Jesus, we’d even spent the entire day together and he had told me all about his past, and I’d bared my soul in return, and we had spent a wonderful night together and we had talked about so many things and it’d felt like I’d always known him. Guys who just wanted someone for casual sex didn’t then spend the entire day with that fucking person, unless it was a part of some sick game, and Marco wouldn’t do that, he _couldn’t,_ and I could’ve sworn that he was falling for me as much as I-

I was almost afraid to even think the words, but finally, I surrendered.

‘As much as I’ve already fallen for him,’ I whispered into the night. _Goddamnit._

I don’t know how long I stayed like that, leaning on the railing of the balcony and feeling the cool wind wash over me, hearing the music thrum behind me. It could have been five minutes or an hour - the only thing I was conscious of was the pain swirling in my chest.

At last, I heard footsteps and turned around, already knowing who it was.

‘Hey, Jean,’ said Marco, ‘You okay?’

I nodded, even though I felt anything but.

He joined me by the railing, his shoulder pressing gently against mine.

‘I saw you talking to Rob before,’ he said after a moment.

I nodded. ‘Yeah.’ I tried to keep my face neutral.

‘What’d he say?’

I hesitated. ‘Not much, really, just basically being a dick. No offense, of course,’ I added as an afterthought, trying desperately to forget what his brother had said to me.

Marco snickered. ‘None taken. He kind of is one.’

That made me smile, and already I felt a little better. ‘So why aren’t you in there’ – I nodded back towards the living room – ‘dancing with the others?’

He huffed. ‘Actually, I’m kind of annoyed with them at the moment, so I figured I’d just come out here and be with you.’

‘Why’re you annoyed?’ I said quietly.  

‘I’m annoyed because … well, honestly …’ He tilted his head back to look at the stars.

‘My family won’t stop talking about what I’m going to do overseas, and everybody has such _great advice_ and they think they’re helping, but they’re not. It’s just freaking me out a bit.’

He exhaled slowly. ‘Also … I joined the Army when the only people I really cared about were my family, and I wasn't worried about leaving them behind that much. But now that I’ve actually met someone who I really, um, _do_ care about enough to want to stay, I have to go all the way to fucking _Syria_ tomorrow. It just seems so unfair.’

I saw him sigh but the sound was strangely muted.

_Someone he cares about._

Rob’s words echoed in my ears. _He just wants you as a quick fuck, you know. He does it all the time – men, women, pretty much anyone that seems easy. He doesn’t give a shit about you._

My heart shattered into a million tiny pieces.

But of course, I should have been expecting this, and I was a fucking idiot for expecting otherwise.

Marco had someone else, someone he _cared_ about. Marco was perfect, he was beautiful and amazing and I liked him far too much, but it’d all been a lie and I had been an idiot to think he would ever fall for someone like me. Marco was, as his brother had said so eloquently, using me as a fuckbuddy, and I was probably nothing more than an easy lay for Marco before he left the country tomorrow morning.  

Marco looked at me then, probably seeing the steely expression on my face, and noticeably balked.

‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I know we haven’t known each for very long, but I do—’

‘No, Marco, it’s fine, really.’ I smiled tightly. ‘You don’t have to apologise.’

‘Really?’ The hope on his face was so unguarded I felt like I was about to cry. _I hate the guy you care about Marco, I hate him so fucking much for having you, the goddamn lucky bastard._

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

‘Then, did you want to come back to my place?’ he said, smiling flirtatiously.

_Just fucking perfect. Like I’m going to just let him fuck me again like I’m nothing._

‘No, I’m not really in the mood,’ I lied smoothly. ‘I think I just want to go back to my own apartment for the night.’

‘But, Jean …’ His face fell so quickly that it made my chest twinge painfully. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow,’ his voice quiet, as though I wasn’t already so fucking aware of the fact.

‘Yeah, I know,’ I said, my voice unsympathetic. ‘But I don’t really feel like just being a _fuckbuddy_ ’ – I very nearly spat the word out – ‘for you tonight.’

‘Jean,’ he said, and his face looked so hurt that I had to look away for a second. ‘Do you honestly think that you’re just a _fuckbuddy_ for me?’ His voice was incredulous.

‘Yeah,’ I said harshly, and abruptly decided to finish this once and for all so that nothing was left for me here, so that I could move on with my life and forget him and his bullshit and this weekend that had been _fucking_ perfect until now.

‘That’s all you are to me, anyway,’ I said.

There was a stunned silence, and then Marco’s eyes grew hard and painful to look at. ‘I’m just a … a fuckbuddy for you?’

‘Yeah, you were.’

He stared at me.

‘… I guess I was.’

I tried to ignore how blurry my vision had gotten over the past minute. ‘I guess there’s nothing left for me here then,’ I said quietly.

‘I guess not,’ he replied, just as softly, his face turned away.

I left him like that, those final, bitter words hanging in the cold wind outside on the balcony, and a moment later I was down the stairs and out the front door, walking down the moonlit street and angrily blinking away the tears prickling at the corner of my eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jean is such an idiot, I swear to god. 
> 
> Also, I apologise for writing a chapter with such absurd amounts of angst. The next chapter will be a lot happier (I hope).


	5. The Last Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I use every romance cliché ever.

Sometime during the long walk back to my apartment, the universe obviously decided that I hadn’t _quite_ had a shit enough night yet, and decided to send dark, brooding clouds to drench me with rain. I hadn’t thought to bring money with me, or even my phone, so there was no possibility of getting a taxi or even texting someone to pick me up - god _fucking_ damnit - although to be fair I hadn’t exactly expected this night to turn out this way.

Needless to say, by the time I finally climbed up the stairs and threw open the door to the shit-hole of an apartment I called home, I was soaked through with rain and shivering, my once-good clothes sticking uncomfortably to my skin. I slammed the door behind me and angrily searched for my phone, finally locating it on the floor next to the couch. I picked it up and turned the screen on. 

_You have (4) missed calls from Marco._

I threw the phone at the wall, stomping off to have a shower.  


* * *

  
The hot water was on full blast, steam curling off the floor, turning my skin an angry red.

And yet, I still couldn’t seem to stop shivering.

‘Fucking stop it already, Jean, come on,’ I muttered, ducking my head under the water and feeling it stream over my face, almost burning. ‘Stop shivering already, come _on_ man, it’s not even cold anymore, just stop, _please._ ’ I clenched my eyes shut tightly, willing my body to stop trembling, even though a small part of me knew that this uncontrollable shaking wasn’t really from being cold.

‘No,’ I said to myself desperately, ‘Please.. _._ ’ I couldn’t deal with thinking about _Marco_ right now, couldn’t deal with the betrayal and what his brother had said and the awful, _awful_ taste that knowing this weekend had been a huge lie had left in my mouth.

‘Please,’ I muttered weakly, resting my forehead on the steaming wall. ‘I can’t …’ But it was too late, the images already careening through my mind, and Marco was in all of them: Marco last night, his smiles wide and inviting; Marco with me in the shower, his arms wrapped around my body; Marco this morning, adorably sleep-mussed hair; Marco’s head against my chest in the park; Marco next to me, hand in mine; but most of all, Marco’s eyes hurt and lost when I’d told him he was nothing more than a fuckbuddy to me, just like I knew I’d been to him. I’d be lucky if I could ever get the image of his green eyes swimming with pain out of my head, even if it was the pain he’d felt at being called out on his bullshit.

My legs felt suddenly weak and I slumped onto the floor of the shower, resting my head on the warm tiled wall. My eyes fluttered closed. I had moved right past the stage of being furious at him – although I was still pretty pissed off - and straight to the sad acceptance that I’d been completely deceived and that ever seeing Marco again was out of the question. I tried to ignore how much that hurt.

‘It wasn’t supposed to be like this,’ I whispered to myself. I’d just wanted to have a fun night at a gay bar, and now I was sitting on the bathroom floor in the shower a day later and I felt hurt and betrayed, and my heart felt like someone had reached into my chest and squeezed it painfully, and it was all because Marco had lied to me.

Above all else, that was what hurt the most. I didn’t care that Marco was bisexual. Personally, I’d never had a problem with someone being bi, unlike some people I knew who were under the impression that bisexuals were either non-existent or were just whores or something, which pissed me off to no end; no, it was the fact that Marco had _lied_ to me about it that hurt.

I didn’t particularly care that Marco’d had lots of casual sex in the past – I wasn’t much different, to be honest, and I’d never judge someone for that; no, it was the fact that he’d let me think I was anything different than an easy fuck that panged me more than anything.

I’d trusted him completely and he’d lied to me, and that hurt so, so much I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

I pulled up my knees and wrapped my arms around them, curling into a ball, as though that could stop the pain radiating through my chest. I closed my eyes, letting the hot water wash over me.

And for a while, I wasn’t sure if the droplets streaming down my cheeks were from the shower, or from something else.  


* * *

  
I finally got out of the shower when the hot water started running out, put on my warmest, most comforting hoodie and jeans, and before long I was on the couch with a bag of chips, watching TV, and feeling a bit closer back to my normal self. Glancing at the clock hanging on the wall, I saw with a start that it was almost ten. I’d obviously been in the shower longer than I’d thought. Marco would be leaving in twelve hours …

I sunk low on the couch and tried to think of something – anything – to do that would take my mind off him.  


* * *

  
At 10:05 I grew sick of watching violent anime and turned off the TV in a huff.

At 10:06 I wound up on my back on the couch, staring aimlessly up at the ceiling. I kept my eyes open as long as possible, until they became so watery I had to shut them, and then I watched the dark patterns dancing on the red skin of my eyelids.

At 10:07 I grew sick of that too and decided to try to sleep, crawling into bed and pulling the sheets up over my head, vowing never to climb out again.

At 10:15 I gave up trying to sleep, going back to the couch to stare at the wall. My eyes traced the cracks in the plaster idly. _I’ll have to get those fixed sometime_ , I thought distantly. 

At 10:20 I tried to find my phone, which luckily hadn’t been broken by being thrown against the wall. I breathed a quick sigh of relief at that.

At 10:21 the phone ended up being slammed onto the coffee table next to the TV remote, after I saw the screen flashing _(9) missed calls from Marco_.

At 10:25 there was a knock on my door, and Marco’s voice called out my name from the hall.  


* * *

  
‘Jean.’

I remained perfectly still on the couch, my eyes trained on the door. My heart pounded in my chest.

‘Jean, please.’

I looked away, figuring that if I didn’t make a sound he’d think I wasn’t here.

‘Jean, I know you’re in there. I know you can hear me.’

_Well, damn._

‘I don’t want to talk to you,’ I said, my voice stronger than I felt, which at the moment was leaning towards ‘teary’ and ‘heartbroken.’

‘Jean, _please_ open the door, I just want to talk to you—’

No!’ I yelled, suddenly furious. ‘I have nothing to say to you!’ I stood and walked to the door, anger burning in my veins. ‘How _dare_ you come to my apartment and try even talking to me after what you did.’

‘What _I_ did?’ His voice had a tinge of anger to it as well. ‘ _You’re_ the one who told me I was a _fuckbuddy_ , for god’s sakes.’

‘I only said that because I know you were just using me for sex this entire fucking weekend!’ I roared, slamming my fist against the door. It shook on its hinges and I breathed out heavily, suddenly exhausted.

There was a strained silence, and then, very softly, he said, ‘Oh, Jean, I didn’t, I wouldn’t … I can explain—’

‘No, you can’t,’ I whispered.

‘Jean, really, it’s not what you think it is—’

‘No, Marco, please, just … don’t.’

I stepped away from the door and, picking up my phone from the coffee table, walked to my bedroom, Marco’s voice still audible behind me. I fell onto the bed heavily, wanting nothing more than sleep, but it refused to come. Eventually I had no choice but to sit up and notice how Marco’s desperate calls had finally ceased. I knew he’d left.

I sighed and fell back on the bed, closing my eyes. I just needed to forget about him, and maybe, one day, the hurting would stop. That was all I needed to do.

Of course, that was when my phone started ringing, and for once, it wasn’t Marco.

I looked down at the screen, confused, until finally, hesitantly, I swiped the display and brought the phone to my ear.

‘Jean, you fucking _idiot_!’

‘Ymir?’ I said, my mouth dry. ‘What’re you—’

‘No, you fucking listen!’

‘Okay,’ I said very quietly, terrified.

‘What the actual _fuck_ did you say to Marco?’

‘I … what?’

‘Because all I know is he turned up at my doorstep thirty minutes ago looking for all the world like someone had just _shot_ him, this horrible look on his face, bawling about you telling him he was nothing more than an easy _fuck_ or some shit!’

‘Ymir, I—’

‘Jean, just answer me. Did you actually say that, or not?’ Her voice was positively venomous.

‘I, uh … yeah.’

‘ _Why?_ ’ she yelled. ‘Why would you say that? And why the hell would you just lead Marco on if you just wanted a quick fuck? I swear to god, Jean, I’m going to hunt you down and _skin_ you.’

‘Ymir, I didn’t mean it!’ I cried. ‘I really liked Marco, but it turns out he was just using me as a fuckbuddy, okay?’ I closed my eyes, blinking away angry tears.

Ymir was silent. And then she said, very slowly, ‘Are you fucking serious?’

‘Yes!’ I exploded. ‘Look.’ I gritted my teeth. ‘I liked Marco so, so much. So much that I think I might have … I think I might have fallen for him a little bit.’ _Or a lot._

‘Jean …’

‘No, listen.’ I exhaled shakily. ‘I was wrong. I went to his house tonight and met his family and his brother… his brother told me I was nothing more than a quick fuck, that he does this to people all the time. Marco doesn’t care about me. He was just using me for sex.’ The words felt like they were burning in my throat.

‘Jean, is this brother you’re referring to by any chance named Rob?’

‘Um, yeah. Why?’ I said, confused.

‘Oh my god, Jean …’ Ymir groaned. ‘Rob is a total dick, he was just lying to you.’

‘No, he wasn’t,’ I said softly. ‘Marco even said later that he cared about someone else.’

‘… What?’

I sighed, wishing it weren’t true. ‘I talked to Marco afterwards and he said he was annoyed because, and I quote, “I actually have somebody I care about, and now I have to go to Syria tomorrow.”’ The words were all too fresh in my mind.

‘Oh, Jean,’ said Ymir, sighing. ‘You are such a fucking _idiot._ ’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘He was talking about you!’ she shouted. ‘You’re the person he cares about!’

‘Uh-uh,’ I said, refusing to even hope. ‘No way.’

‘Oh my god, look, just think about it Jean. Marco turned up on my doorstep, half out of his mind, and said to me that he spent the entire weekend with you and everything was fine, and then after talking with Rob you suddenly acted all weird, said some shitty things, and left. He had no idea why, but after talking to me for a while he decided that whatever, he cares about you too much to leave tomorrow without saying goodbye, so he went all the way over to your apartment to apologise for whatever imaginary thing he did. Does that sound like a guy who doesn’t care about you?’

And then, abruptly, I remembered Marco talking to me earlier on the balcony, the way he’d looked at me after saying that he cared about someone, his eyes filled with hope, the way he’d asked me back to his place with a flirtatious smile, and the horrible pain in his eyes when I’d outright rejected him, and oh my god, he _had_ been talking about me, it was so ridiculously obvious and I was blind not to see it. He’d told me that he cared about me, and, being the total idiotic dick that I was, I’d thrown it right back in his face.

‘Oh my god, Ymir, I had no idea he was talking about me, I _swear_ ,’ I said finally.

‘It’s okay, Jean, I believe you,’ she said, and I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘You should probably go talk to him though, make up before he leaves tomorrow, you know.’

‘Thanks, Ymir,’ I said, ‘I’m gonna call him, okay?’ I hung up without saying goodbye and my fingers had already dialled Marco’s number before I even knew what I was going to say, although there was an inkling of something forming in my mind.

Marco answered almost immediately, and when he said ‘Jean,’ in a soft voice, I felt like I could cry.  

‘Marco,’ I said. ‘I talked to Ymir and … look, I was an idiot, I…’ I bowed my head, suddenly ashamed. ‘Your brother Rob told me you were just using me this entire weekend for sex, and I freaked out massively. I’m so, so sorry.’

‘Oh,’ he said quietly. ‘I guess that explains a lot.’  

‘Marco, I …’ I paused for a second, everything I wanted to say swimming in my brain, until finally, I decided to say it all, romantic clichéd speeches be damned.

‘I would never use you for sex because, goddamnit, I actually _like_ you a hell of a lot, and I know it’s only been a day but I feel like I’ve known you for my entire life. I know what makes you happy and what makes you sad, and what makes you smile and laugh and I …’ I paused, licking my lips nervously.

‘I want to keep learning those things about you, Marco. I want to know everything there is to know about you and your life, and I want to be a part of that world.’

His quick intake of breath was loud in my ear but I pressed on, wanting too badly to say everything I felt.

‘I care about you, Marco. I care about you more than basically anyone else I’ve ever been with, and I just want to _be_ with you. I don’t know what’s going to happen to us, what we’re doing here or what’s going to happen to whatever we have when you leave tomorrow, but I just know that all I want is to give this – _us_ – a try, because otherwise I’d spend the rest of my life regretting it. And I want to try, more than anything, to make it up to you, no matter what it takes.’

There was a long, charged pause, and then he said wryly, ‘Well, you could try opening your door first.’ I leapt to my feet, a dizzy happiness growing inside my chest.

A second later I was out of my bedroom and unlocking the front door, and I swung it open to see Marco standing there with a smile on his face, phone raised to his ear. He lowered it and ended the call, and the next second I had my arms wrapped tightly around his body in the hall, smushing my face into the warm comfort of his shoulder and never ever wanting to let go.

‘My place?’ he said quietly, his warm breath tickling my ear.

‘Your place,’ I agreed, tightening my grip ever so slightly.  


* * *

  
The rest of the night passed in a blur of new and familiar sensations and pleasures.

Familiar: Marco pushing me against the door of his apartment and kissing my mouth desperately. New: me on all fours on his bed, muffling my groans of pleasure with the pillow as his tongue did unspeakably dirty things I’d never thought possible; Familiar: his mouth around my length, hot and tight and gorgeous, and mine around his in return, wrenching whimpers from his lips. His fingers, slick and warm with lube, trailing a sticky line down my chest before reaching deep inside me and _curling_ , my strangled moans echoing off the walls (familiar, though not with him and _definitely_ not this good).

And then, him inside of me, thick and hot and tight and pressing on all the right places, his breathy groans spurring me on to go faster, straddled on his waist, his fingers clutching my hips tightly as I rocked forward and quicker and deeper (new, so breathtakingly new).

And finally, coming hard with my mouth pressed against his in a deep kiss, my sweaty hands tangled in his hair and his hands grabbing my shoulders, his hips thrusting shakily up into me one last time (something that I desperately hoped would become familiar one day).  


* * *

  
Afterwards we lay tangled amidst the sheets, my head on his shoulder and my hand splayed across his bare chest, feeling it rise and fall as he breathed in and out. It was a moment I didn’t want to spoil, but there was still a question left unanswered that I was burning to ask.

‘Are you really bisexual?’ I finally said.

He tensed up and I rubbed soothing circles on his chest.

‘It doesn’t matter to me,’ I said quietly. ‘I don’t really care who you’re attracted to. I know you can’t change it as much as I can’t change being gay.’

He exhaled heavily. ‘Yeah, I am.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I was going to, I just couldn’t find the right moment—’

‘Marco.’ I propped myself up on my arm so I could look him in the eyes. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

I saw a glint of sadness in his eyes. ‘A lot of people don’t like it. They think I’m greedy, or confused, or a... a whore or something. And the last girl I dated broke up with me when I told her. She said I was a slut, and that she’d never date someone like me.’

‘That’s horrible,’ I said.

He snorted, but it was bitter, without humour. ‘Tell me about it.’

I rested my head on his shoulder again, settling into the warmth. There was a brief silence, and then I said, very quietly, ‘I never would’ve judged you for it. I was just upset cause you lied to me about it.’

‘I know.’ He sighed. ‘I guess we both messed up.’

I huffed softly against his bare skin. ‘I guess so. At least we made up.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Several times,’ and I burst out laughing.

‘What time is it?’ I said, when our giggles had finally ceased.

He swivelled his head to squint at the bedside clock. ‘Just past midnight.’

‘What time do you have to leave?’ I said quietly.

‘About ten,’ he said, and my heart sank a little.

‘Do you want to sleep, or …’

He hummed thoughtfully. ‘Sleep can wait. Especially when there’s’ – he rolled over so his body was on top of mine, our bare chests together – ‘more, uh, _exciting_ things to do.’

‘Like me?’ I said, grinning, and he rolled his eyes.

‘You are such a freaking goof, I swear to—’

I cut him off with a slow kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck and smiling broadly against his lips.  


* * *

  
Later, in the wee hours of the morning, we’d both finally decided to get some rest, and I had settled back against the fleshy crook of his shoulder, his arm wrapped loosely around me. I was just about to fall asleep, but then he said soft, thrilling words against my hair, so quietly that I wasn’t sure if he’d even meant for me to hear them, and they sent a thrill down my spine.

I hesitated before whispering them back just as quietly, muffled against his smooth skin, and his lips pressed very softly against the top of my hair before his head settled onto the pillow. A minute later he was snoring quietly, the vibrations travelling through the hand I had on his chest and through my body.

I watched him dozing peacefully for a moment, before closing my eyes and deciding to get some sleep myself.

In that strange, half-awake space between consciousness and slumber, a multitude of thoughts wandered through my head: how odd and yet perfect it was that I had met this wonderful, beautiful, perfect man just a day ago and already couldn’t imagine life without him, as though he had always been by my side and always would be, like two pieces of the same puzzle destined to fit together; I worried about the long distance and the war and if Marco would even make it back in one piece, a thought that made my heart constrict painfully.  
But as the beckoning threads of sleepiness pulled me into slumber, I felt Marco’s heartbeat, soft and rhythmic, under the hand I had splayed across his tanned, lightly freckled chest, and I knew that I hadn’t felt this happy in a very long time. That fact alone was worth more than enough for all the hardship we were going to face over the next few months.

‘Ti amo,’ I murmured, muffled against the crook of his shoulder, and the last sensation before I fell asleep were his arms tightening around my body in his slumber, clutching me ever closer.  _I love you._


	6. Epilogue

_One year later_

* 

The airport was completely filled with people.

Groups of families with noisy children milling around. Lone businessmen in absurdly crisp suits, talking rapidly into slim phones. Tourists laughing and jabbering fragments of lilting English. There were so many people, way more than I’d been expecting this early in the morning, and I wasn’t sure if Marco would even be able to find me in the mess of suitcases and limbs and tiny children running underfoot.

I was leaning on the wall of the arrivals lounge, absently chewing my thumbnail, and peering restlessly through the crowd of people ambling out of the customs area.

‘You should calm down,’ said Maria to my left, and I flushed, embarrassed that she’d caught how nervous I was. ‘He’ll probably be out very soon, there’s no need to worry …’

‘I know,’ I said quickly. ‘It’s just, I haven’t seen him in such a long time.’ I looked away. ‘Don’t know what it’ll be like seeing him again.’

Maria sighed. ‘I know how you feel, darling, I feel much the same way.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, but there’s no need to worry! You’ll be fine.’ She grinned and pinched my cheek affectionately. ‘How could Marco resist that adorable face anyway? He’s been looking at it on his Skype just about every day for the past year anyway …’

I huffed, embarrassed, and was just about to reply when I heard a familiar voice call out.

‘Mama! Jean!’

I turned just in time to see a flash of Marco’s dark hair go past me before he crashed full pelt into Maria, bags spilling at his feet. He hugged her tightly, babbling enthusiastically in Italian, and I could just barely pick out the words ‘love’ and ‘miss you’, what with the limited grasp of Italian I’d acquired over the past year.

It was a moment before he turned to me, wordless and grinning, and embraced me tightly, and then I could focus on nothing else but the feel of his strong arms – even more tanned now, lined with a few pale scars – enveloping me completely, and the feel of his unshaven cheek against mine, and his earthy, warm scent surrounding me, and his dark hair tickling my nose, and I hadn’t even realised how much I’d _missed_ this, how perfect and natural it felt to be with him like there was nothing else in the world but us two.

‘I missed you,’ I murmured in his ear, and I felt him smile.

‘I missed you too,’ he said quietly, and hugged me tighter, his body warm and perfect and familiar, and all I could feel was his heart beating underneath his shirt, a gentle, comforting rhythm against my chest.

After what felt like an eternity we pulled back from each other and, picking up his bags, walked outside to the car.

Maria started driving, pulling quickly out of the airport car park, and a rock song came on the radio that both Marco and me loved. We sang the lyrics as loud as we could, our happy giggles almost drowning out the music. We looked at each other, broad smiles on our faces, and I knew he felt as ecstatic as I did that he was finally home.

The car went over the crest of a hill and I saw the bright light of the sun peeking over the horizon, and our hands, closely entwined on the backseat, were illuminated in the golden light of dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was my first chaptered fic and easily the longest thing I've ever written, so it feels pretty awesome to finally finish it! I'm quite proud of this little baby, even if it is just a slash fanfiction. 
> 
> I'd like to give special thanks to everyone who read it (I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it), and extra special thanks to everyone who gave it kudos or commented on it. Y'all are seriously the best and you totally make my day :)


End file.
